Mimic
by Ruse
Summary: Part 12: Smith is taken to see the Oracle. Summary: Agent Smith is sent into the Real World to assassinate Neo, interrupting the Path of the One.
1. Truthless Heroes

**Mimic  
**Truthless Heroes

Brown and Jones have an interesting, albeit strange, proposal for the exiled Agent Smith. But what of the cost of entering the real world to assassinate Neo?

~~~~~~~

The small internet café was filled with optic, auditory and otherwise sensual stimuli. It was high tech, muted and sleek with metal and fabrics of scarlet and deep purple, and altogether appropriate for a meeting between three entities that shared an uncommon bond and an uncommon separation. It was public, but failed to fool the single being sitting alone across from the other two. This was not safe. Yet he felt compelled. After all, he was meaningless to them. Neither an immediate concern that would warrant a chase, nor the agent he had once been. Smith glanced through the darkness of his shades to the peaceful day beyond the window knowing it could be disturbed by his escape at any given moment.

He could think of nothing less distasteful than the cool proposition his simulated auditory senses processed and filed away under what his programming determined by default as ridiculous. Agents were designed with an understanding, _a somewhat limited understanding_, of humanity and thus they could extrapolate the proper responses to give to certain statements, could use this ability to manipulate the weaker race when needed. Agent Brown employed this understanding flawlessly, as any agent should. His inflections were schooled, if cold, and exuded an acceptable amount of suggestiveness that would cause any human to consider his words more carefully and with less apprehension.

Smith folded his fingers and placed his simulated hands upon the simulated metallic table that separated him from them with the vague hint of a smirk upon his mouth. Taking a breath, then pausing as if to consider, he gazed unblinking and said quite seriously, "The system files of your program. Have you run the appropriate diagnostics upon them? You seem to be malfunctioning."

The two agents before him processed his response and reacted as they should, simultaneously and with perfect predictability. It was almost strange to him to see this now, now that he was an exiled program, no longer controlled by the parameters of the mainframe. He had never given time to attempting to understand the irrelevant before, yet now that he was an outsider he was given a certain objective point of view. The two scanned and communed in a way that was not visible to the human visual senses, yet still felt compelled by their programming to turn their heads and examine each other, seeking to know if the other program understood Smith's reaction.

Brown paused a moment, then exhaled as if frustrated and the exile's smirk died. He found these subtle human expressions directed at manipulating him offensive. They meant nothing. He did not fail to recognize the signs. They wanted something from him, wanted him to cooperate with this faulty scheme. Brown fixed an assessing gaze on him. "Then you refuse."

Smith leaned forward slightly in the booth and returned the expression. "I will listen."

Again the two agents before him exchanged information and an accompanying visual display for his benefit. He could well imagine their confusion. Typical of a program executed and maintained for the sole purpose of protecting the secret of the true nature of the matrix. So unaccustomed to one so dressed as they, so programmed once upon a time, a being that well could have been either of them rather than Smith, who had as he preferred to term it, 'expanded his horizons'. They expected him to agree, to take his mission as always without question or care. When he failed to trust that from which he had come, they failed to understand why.

He failed to understand why. Yet, new man or not, he did not waste time in questioning his own actions. They simply were, whether cause by a glitch, by design or by Anderson. Still, it did no good in relating now to these once-comrades. They were uncertain of his loyalty, of what had ultimately caused his program to become unstable and what the long-term effects of that instability would be. He was an unknown equation that he had the distinct suspicion these two would prefer to leave within the realm of what was forgotten and exiled. That was, of course, based upon the hypothetical assumption that either of these programs had the care for preference. As it was, preference was not a factor. There was a need of him and without prejudice it would be asked. They had a strange and seemingly ill-conceived notion of sending him into the real world. An impossibility. Perhaps he was not the only curiously 'unstable' equation running around the Matrix.

Jones spoke now, filtering in through his auditory sensors to capture the immediate attention of his mental processes. His tone brought within Smith a remembrance—of when he had first spoken to Anderson. Or was the condescension and subtle urge to agreeability displayed by the other simply imagined? He staved off reflection until a later time and focused. "Your mission is simple. After much testing and re-testing we have found a suitable human within the Matrix to which you will be uploaded. The appropriate program functions will, naturally, be written to your code or downloaded to a source you find suitable if linking to the mainframe makes you…uncomfortable." Smith narrowed his brow. To deny he felt discomfort with anything would be allowing himself to sink further into what he suspected to resemble human emotion, or at very least their inane behavior. He would not lie or deny. And he felt discomfort with his discomfort. Yet this was something he did not want cited, least of all from those who deemed him 'unstable'.

The agent continued after an unanswered pause. "The process is based upon that which we perform when using the humans as operating environments, but rather than being temporarily written over their digital information within the Matrix, you will be taught how to write your program into their bodies. These new functions will consist of the following. A trace function, enabling you to locate the human unit once you encounter your construct. An uploading and downloading function, which will enable you to transfer your program into the hardware encased within the human unit. A writer program that you may use to copy, edit or rewrite your files over many of the files that control the unit. And assorted files that will enable better access and control of the unit. You may, of course, scan these files yourself before upgrading." Again, he paused, waiting for Smith to digest that information.

Unlike humans, programs (unless programmed to do so) did not take an inordinate amount of time processing. He immediately had questions. "And will I be able to upload myself into any human? Any human still plugged into the Matrix?"

The agents shook their heads simultaneously and Jones spoke up. "There is also a protection feature added to the upgrade that will prevent you from using your functions on unapproved individuals. For the protection of the mainframe, of course."

Smith's tone became dry. "Of course. And my objective?"

"You will behave as a human interested in the resistance, on the basis of one who is unfamiliar with the reality of the Matrix, but wishes to understand. In essence you will seek out a rebel captain we have pre-chosen and accept any invitations made. And when the time comes to be freed from the Matrix…"

"…I will accept."

Jones nodded. "Yes. You will accept. And when they awaken you to the outside world you will have one remaining task. Find and destroy anyone you perceive as vital. Or if you are unable to complete that task, find and destroy Neo."

The trio paused for a moment of consideration. An assassination plot, pure and simple. Yet… "Why send me?"

Jones and Brown exchanged glances again before the latter gave him a simple, concise and brutally honest reply. "You are expendable. You have the programming we require, the magnified drive we perceive would contribute to a mission of this nature and are not a functioning part of the mainframe." What was that about drive? "Therefore, _if_ you remain loyal to the mainframe and its goals, you were deemed the appropriate choice in this objective."

There was a big 'if' in his statement. That they asked him to perform this conveyed to him they still believed he would behave in a predictable manner that suited their needs, but if he did not it would be of no matter. They will have sent a meaningless program to test their theories. Indeed he was the logical choice. Smith cocked his head and wandered his eyes over the white earpiece hanging from Brown's ear almost unconsciously as he considered his options all the way through. He should accept without care, and yet he spoke as if he did. "And when the objective is complete I will be interrogated by Zion, discovered and deleted."

Brown nodded, then exhaled slightly—another human gesture written to increase the believability of his humanity. He may have toyed with a pencil had one been available, for all the ease he was trying to exude. "We understand that you wish your program to remain operative, for whatever reason. It was, in fact, predicted you would fail to meet us to preserve yourself from deletion."

Former Agent Smith waved off a young waitress that had stepped up and opened her purple-clad lips to ask for his order. He waited for her to leave and once she was out of earshot, said, "You are not incorrect that I wish to continue. Was it predicted that my 'magnified drive' would cause me to value a chance to kill Mr. Anderson over remaining active?"

"It was."

Smith nodded once and scooted towards the edge of the booth. "I predict I can both remain active and complete my goal to kill him. _Within_ the Matrix."

A hand gripped his wrist and he stopped his departure. They would now come to the conclusion that they had wasted their time and would attempt to apprehend him for deletion. Or so he would have predicted. "We offer compensation. A back-up copy of your program will be kept and as soon as we are satisfied you have completed one or both of your objectives, it will be activated."

"You lie."

Brown removed his hand from Smith's wrist and began to exit the booth, followed by Jones. Smith slowly elevated to full height and waited for what would inevitably come. Yet he again failed to predict through logic and mathematics. They did not take on the threatening stances they should have and even allowed him a clean shot towards the door. Brown watched him through eyes covered by sunglasses, ever masked to the world that had been opened up to his fellow agent. His voice seemed unequivocally empty to Smith now. "Reconsider. If you fail to return here by this time tomorrow consider yourself targeted for deletion. Programs without purpose drain the Matrix needlessly and however minute that drain may be, it will inevitably effect the efficiency of power usage delegated by the mainframe and disrupt the continuity of its mathematical harmony."

The threat almost amused Smith as his once-comrades began for the exit of the establishment. Soft and dark melodic tones hit his ears and people watched the strange men leave. "You are giving me a chance to change my mind?" The idea was ludicrous for an agent. He was no battery to be preserved for usage or psychologically studied.

Jones shot him a quick look over his shoulder. "It is predicted that with the knowledge you now possess there is a 62.5% chance you will reconsider and agree. You are suited to this task, therefore we will allow for more time. It was also predicted that like humans, you would require time to assess and reassess before proceeding logically."

Agent Smith's lip curled as the other two exited the café without another word.

~~~~~~~

**Author**: _Ruse_ – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com  
**Disclaimer**: No infringement intended.  
**Feedback**: _Yes_! By all means, my precioussss, lemme know how I'm doing!  
**Archive**: Sure, just please let me know if you will, so I can stop by and see your site.

**A/N:** A mesh between canon and not, but will stick to canon mostly as far as many details go, but changes the plot. Assume this to be an alternate universe from Reloaded. Please be kind, it's my first Matrix fic. :-O The horror! Is it too…anything? Thanks to anyone that reviews!


	2. Unmade

**Mimic  
**Unmade

Brown and Jones have an interesting, albeit strange, proposal for the exiled Agent Smith. But what of the cost of entering the real world to assassinate Neo?

~~~~~~~

It first occurred to him that this was, in fact, a malfunction, a setup or perhaps some strange experiment being run upon him. He had often wondered why the others of his release number had not been deleted or exiled, for that was the way of the mainframe. Agents could be deleted and remade many times over—had, in fact, been cast to the virtual winds of the Matrix before their version. So it occurred to Smith that perhaps in this great oversight the mainframe had been mistaken and allowed other so-called 'faulty' agents to run. The problem was certainly not systematic.

Humans would consider the day pleasurable, he knew by gathered statistics. They attached emotional value to the patterns of the weather and today in New York the sun was shining, the birds were singing according to their proper mathematical formula and not a single color, scent or tactile sensation was wrong. No, the Matrix flowed with perfection, leaving the problem to those who had brought him here to this street to peer inside a corner café in downtown New York City to see what he now studied.

But malfunction was not the only possible explanation and the next avenue of procession led him to wonder if this were a setup, which he immediately dismissed because it was completely unlike the mainframe or the agent programs to waste such time. He could easily have been taken the day previous. It was entirely possible the mainframe wanted to study him, but he could think of no real reason why. Which led him to his final conclusion.

Smith crossed his arms and watched the human they had chosen for him to inhabit. Dark hair, blue eyes and fair skin. He sat within the café with what assumedly were a few business associates. Yes, he had reconsidered and yes, he would do their bidding. After all, it would be a chance to fulfill what he had ultimately chosen to remain active for. Killing Anderson. The thought of living as a human, breathing and sweating and sleeping like a human disgusted him. Yet they would never expect to be fought upon their own turf. How could he logically pass such a chance by?

Brown and Jones seemed to watch the individual within the building with an absent fascination, doubtlessly calculating Smith's chances of success using such a unit. He allowed a pensive frown to cross his features almost without realization that he did so. "This will make my objective harder to complete," he observed to them dryly. "Is my deletion that important?"

Jones ignored the second statement, but offered an explanation of the first. "It is believed that taken out of your usual context they will not recognize you, as all agents favor one another to a certain degree." He could hear it within his memory as clear as if Morpheus were standing before him now. _You all look alike to me. _"And as well, not all humans of Zion have encountered _you_ specifically." That explained little of what he wanted to know.

"You searched for a human that was alike in appearance to me. Why?"

The two of them exchanged expressions, then went back to studying the individual within the café. He appeared to be laughing. Jones replied firmly, "We were given a search criteria that if possible, your vessel to Zion would favor your construct by at least 60%. We were not given reasons why, but it is likely the mainframe wishes insurance that you do not grow comfortable with your new life in Zion and work to undermine the Matrix. The longer you remain in Zion this way, the more inevitable it will be that you are discovered and distrusted."

The exile grunted his assessment of that and drew their momentary attention, but he didn't care what their opinions of his actions were. A good explanation on the surface, but he was not so ready to accept that as the chief reason for such a reckless choice. Still, inhabiting a body that appeared as he did offered up two consolations. First that he would have something to identify with concerning his new body. Second that when he killed Anderson the rebel would understand just who it was that had beaten him. The second gifted him with a dark smile.

Within the café he could see his double removing his wallet from his jacket to pay for lunch. Matthew S. Pryce, age 42, who had a job as head of personnel for a software company. Personnel. A career based upon the understanding of humans. The idea aggravated Smith, admittedly, but he would handle it. Anything seemed worth getting to Anderson. Anything.

Brown turned to him expectantly. "Your double will be exiting the café within moments. Are you prepared to follow through with your assignment?"

Smith nodded as the glass doorway opened, allowing Pryce and his two friends an exit. His reply was simple, for assurances from neither he nor they would mean much to the other. It was a chance both parties took with the other. "Yes."

One of the well-dressed men parted from Pryce and the other, heading towards some unknown destination. Smith ignored him once he was a good distance away and crossed the street. His double headed towards a parking lot on the other side of the café with no indication that his partner would take another route. Perhaps they had carpooled. It mattered very little. Humans were gullible. A quick blow to the head and a fabricated story later would take care of the dark man that laughed now with his co-worker. What would really matter would be if the parking lot were empty.

If he believed in a fate other than that which was forged by the mainframe, he would have been thankful it seemed on his side. As it was the lot was dead and by the distance Pryce was traveling, it seemed his car was not up front near the road. Smith straightened his jacket and started into the lot, quickly disappearing within the lanes.

When he was close enough he called out to his would-be vessel. "Mr. Pryce."

The duo turned and the human of interest looked him over. His appearance was quite similar, but little variations could be picked up on. His eyes were grayer and his hair darker. By measure he was 1.2 inches shorter than Smith with a voice that was free and easy. "I'm Pryce. Can I help you?"

The ex-agent nodded and removed his sunglasses, eliciting startled expressions from the two humans before him. "I have a personal matter I wish to discuss with you, Mr. Pryce. I believe we may be related."

The dark man beside Pryce ran a hand through his hair. "I'll say. Matt, why didn't you tell me you were a twin?"

Pryce knit his brow, murmuring, "I'm not. Who are you?"

He would give the human exactly two minutes to accept his offer of privacy before insisting. "I've traveled far to speak with you. Does my appearance say nothing of my intentions?"

His double exchanged a gaze with his friend, who took the look as a hint that may or may not have been intended. "Right, I'll see you back at the office." Pryce narrowed his brow, but the other failed to recognize the expression and stepped away before another word could be said. At the impression of his thumb to a control pad on his key ring a blue Taurus beeped and lit up. Smith waited in silence, watching as a predator while the darker man got into his automobile and pulled away with a parting wave to the now easy target that was Matthew S. Pryce.

Looking a little bewildered and dubious, Pryce took out his own keys and made a tentative move towards his own vehicle. His voice was troubled as he made an excuse to avoid this uncomfortable conversation Smith was proposing, perhaps so he could speak with his parents or escape all together. "I'm going to be late for work. Maybe we could meet somewhere. Do you have a number I could reach you at?"

There would be no telephone calls. Not in the mood to be trifled with Smith drew the Desert Eagle that Jones had returned to him and aimed it towards his double's head with an audible click. Pryce's gray-blue eyes widened and he did the most pleasing and most logical thing he could in a situation like this. He froze and raised his hands. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, swallowing as humans do when their throats have suddenly gone dry.

Smith darted glances around them, then closed the distance between he and Pryce. Waving the gun, he motioned to the side of a nearby van that could obscure them should anyone enter the lot. "This will take only a moment." Pryce was a smart man, if careful. He understood his danger well enough to refrain from causing trouble. The human backed slowly behind the cover of the van, his eyes betraying the knowledge that this could be the place he died. He was very correct about that. Between the van and a small golden car they stopped and Smith breathed in a deadly quiet voice, "Turn your back to me."

This was where Pryce backslid, refusing to cooperate until the agent took a threatening step towards him. "Take what you want," his now slightly breathless voice offered. "Just don't kill me. Please."

The exile pressed the cold nose of his gun against Pryce's dark hair. Seeing this other's weakness brought Smith a cooler tone. "All humans die."

What would have been Matthew Pryce's last stand turned into nothing more than an inconvenient struggle that ended abruptly. The human moved to try and save his life in some way, by some miracle, but death would not come by the blow of a gun. Smith wrapped Pryce into a hold the weaker could not break, pressed his hand firmly between his two shoulder blades and proceeded with the upload. His double gasped for air as it began.

It was a strange sensation that stopped the human from struggling soon enough, a feeling Smith lacked the words to describe. He could feel the data of his program meshing with the construct of this human's digital self, could sense the trace program working to find the body in the crop yards, and felt new data entering his storage. Bryan Hunt had been the name of his dark friend and Antonio Capella was the other that had walked. The three had been laughing together about women. Hunt possessed a wife and a new child. Capella was unmarried and Pryce suspected him of having an interest in his very own sister. These small facts became more detailed as the moments passed away. He could almost taste the memory downloading from the hardware inside Pryce into his own subroutines. It felt invigorating.

And when it was over only one stood to tell the tale. Agent Smith found he neither held anything nor was being held, though he somehow had expected both. Pryce was gone and only Smith remained standing in his place. Examining his familiar black jacket he realized his program had overwritten the construct of his double, a matter easily cared for now with the parameters of his upgrade. Accessing his perfect memory files of his new appearance he quickly morphed and his black suit became navy, his eyes grayed and his sunglasses disappeared. For a moment he could only stare at his hands and let the new sensations sink in. Agents were not programmed to assimilate so many electrical signals for such a vast array of feeling.

It was…different.

When he stepped from around the van he saw Brown and Jones still waiting across the street. He paused for a moment at the back of his silver Crown Vic, nodded once and when the other two returned the gesture, entered his vehicle. _His vehicle._ Smith could feel the truth of that statement. He knew where to drive, which elevator to get on and which desk was his, all with flawless understanding. He felt new. Both weak and powerful at the same time.

Now it would be only a matter of contacting the outside world by means of a Zion rebel called Psyche, whom he would search about on the internet after work. He had never once in his existence asked what the Matrix was, but now it was that question that would drive him.

~~~~~~~

**Author**: _Ruse_ – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com  
**Disclaimer**: No infringement intended.  
**Feedback**: _Yes_! By all means, my precioussss, lemme know how I'm doing!  
**Archive**: Sure, just please let me know if you will, so I can stop by and see your site.

**A/N:** Another step into the Matrix. I hope this premise is good! I couldn't stand not having Smith look like Hugo and I figured eh, it's likely someone out there would favor him somewhat. Pryce doesn't have to be necessarily a mirror image, right? ;-)

To Reviewers:

Unfortunately the other day two of my reviews got deleted and while I recovered one, I couldn't the other…so someone reviewed and I don't know your name. Doh! Thanks and I'm sorry I couldn't include you on the list this time around.

**Mel** – Hmm…I'll have to look back into that. I tried to keep the words as characteristic of a computer as possible, since I'm writing as a narrator and Smith's POV kinda. Doh! :-D Anyway, that's something I'll keep in mind during future chapters. Thanks a bunch! :-D

**Bachy** A – Thanks, buddy! I'm happy you liked this and I'm flattered! Good luck on your Matrix fic and website!  
_Located Here For Readers: **remnant_fanfiction.tripod.com** - no http thingie cause ff.net has deleted the entire link on me before. Doh!_

**Selina** – Thanks muchly! I appreciate it!

**Narsil** – Hey, the coolest sword in LOTR! ;-) Sweet! Thank you, yes, was my first Matrix fic. :-O I'm pleased you liked it! Hope you continue to think well of it. :-)

**Leth** – Thank you very much. :-D Yeah, not that I don't like Bane or the whole Reloaded story, but I tend to like to rewrite movie sequels to spotlight my favorite characters. ;-) Smith wasn't in Reloaded enough for obsessee like me! Hopefully with the new one, eh? Thanks again!

**Tinhamodic** – Hey! Thanks for taking the time to email me, then review anyway when it finally worked. :-D Means a bunch that you cared enough for the story to spend the time. :-D Means a bunch!

**Dreamofagents** – Thanks! Yeah, I plan on going a bit astray from the Reloaded plotline a bit, more to accommodate needing of more Smith. ;-) But certain truths will remain, such as who he is of course and so on. Glad you liked the first installment, hope you continue to. :-D

**SilverTiger** – Thankya muchly! I'm a bit more confident in my ability to capture Smith by the reviews such as yours…I hope my ability continues. :-D Thankie!

**Control** – Thanks for your kind words! :-D Yes, you're right…action is a good thing and I plan on delving into it more. I tend to make my prologues more establishing points then continue into what will follow later on. But I get where you're coming from and will endeavor to make sure there's enough action to balance the reaction. :-D Thanks!!

**Cmdr. Gabe E** – Hehehe..aye, yes. Another real world Smith. ;-) Not that Bane isn't cool in his own right, but I love the Hugo construct. ;-D And anyway, always room for different variations, eh? :-) Glad you liked it and thanks for the review! :-D

**Melanie** – Thanks bunches! :-D Hope you continue you like.

**Stormhawk** – Hey, thanks for reading and reviewing! I should like to say you were the one who kinda pushed me into wanting to do this! Your excellent Agents series really got me to thinking about Smith and all the lovely things authors can do to him and I really like how you write him. So thanks for writing your works as well and for visiting mine. :-D Tis most appreciated!


	3. Cause and Effect

**Mimic  
**Cause and Effect

Brown and Jones have an interesting, albeit strange, proposal for the exiled Agent Smith. But what of the cost of entering the real world to assassinate Neo?

~~~~~~~

Through the thunder outside and within the dim hallway footfalls could be heard. The richly decorated chateau stood silent as evening drew closer and the skies outside darkened. Her heels sounded with purpose as she made her way to where he was, no doubt basking in the glow of his power and genius. When she opened the doorway to his office and saw the smoke coming from the leather chair turned away from her, she knew she had not been disappointed. "Did you think I would not know, my love?"

There was a pause, then slowly his chair swiveled until her husband faced her with amusement sparkling within those handsome eyes, eyes that had been so different an age or two ago. Merovingian inhaled from his harmless human vice, blew the smoke from his lips and motioned Persephone to sit across from him. His rich, accented voice seemed bored and cold. "Know what, Persephone? What is it that you think you know?" A grin spread across his lips as he dared her to shock him.

Still, Persephone cared nothing about his prideful stance. She was not above her own acts of condescension when it suited her. The goal here was not to threaten or impress, merely to gain information. "You changed the Smith program, didn't you? Why?" She decided against mentioning the Oracle for now. One thing at a time with him or he would grow too defensive to spill his secrets.

Merovingian's grin widened as he took another breath of smoke from his cigarette. "Ah, my sweet. Since when do you meddle in the affairs of agents, hmm?" He kicked his feet up on his desk and inhaled deeply, waving his hand apathetically. "Yes, I edited the agent. This is old news, my dear. Really, you should try and keep up if you're going to spy on me."

She allowed a little smile to cross her pink, full lips. Leaning against the arm of her chair, Persephone watched him a moment, then sweetly said, "Why would you edit an agent program?"

His cigarette found the ashtray on his desk quickly and her husband leaned over it, his blue eyes alight in a dangerous glint. His smile remained fond, however. "Do you ever get tired of saying the same things over and over? Living for the same purpose for countless ages?" She knew of what he spoke, of the path set before them, played out now coming on six times. She knew of his secret obsession with cause and effect, that like the changes made to Smith, her husband was simply growing too unable to function within the same hear and do parameters as always. Merovingian saw the understanding within her dark brown eyes and leaned back. "Having fun, my dear. You should try it."

"If this affects the path of the One," Persephone pressed, eager to understand what he was driving for. "If the Architect…"

Merovingian's face twisted in disgust. "The Architect? What do I care for him? He is nothing. Fuck the Architect."

Persephone pursed her lips and remained strong under his now irritated glare. So like a human, her husband. So like a child sometimes. She leaned across the desk and smiled in an attempt cool his anger. "I am sorry. I was only curious." It always worked. Always. Those pretty blue eyes of his that had looked on her in passion once now looked that way again, but it was not the same. _Never_ the same.

"Think nothing of it," he told her, wearing his devastating smile once more as he reached to cup her cheek. "You still care about me somewhere inside that cold heart of yours, hmm? Still watching me like a hawk, precious?"

She nodded softly and kissed his palm, causing him to smile in nearly surprised interest. "Always, my love."

~~~~~~~

Earthy, serene and very clean kept, just as he had expected. Smith took a step into his apartment and paused without closing the door behind him. His briefcase found rest in a comfortable looking cream-colored chair near the entrance and his newly purchased sunglasses were placed in his jacket pocket as he examined his surroundings. He knew where everything would be, knew there was a book waiting by his nightstand and that his computer was for the greater part unused for anything other than typing up documents for work. Matthew Pryce was not a computer person.

"You're late, Matt." Smith inhaled, searched his new memory files and accessed a catalogue of soft female voices for a match of the one coming from behind. Deirdre Tait. He was supposed to have come home after work, freshened up and had dinner with the woman across the hall. Pryce was a kind man, quiet and prone to doing things he did not really want to do because he lacked the ability to firmly state his wishes. He did not like hurting people. This woman was different. Pushy, arrogant and manipulative. "You couldn't have called?"

Narrowing his brow, Smith turned and looked her up and down. A beautiful scarlet dress hugged her tanned skin and was accented nicely by her dark hair and matching lipstick. Her eyes weren't nearly as agitated as her voice would lead one to believe. "I am sorry, Deirdre," he apologized with blatant insincerity. "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to cancel."

The woman pushed herself from her door and crossed the hall, entering without permission. Smith stood straight and stared her down with the question of what she thought she was doing, unwavering in his coolness. Deirdre ignored it and continued approaching, then reached a hand towards his person. She straightened his tie and smiled. "Dinner's cold anyway. We could still talk…or other things."

Smith gripped her wrist to prevent it from traveling to his face. Again, he said, "I'm going to have to cancel, Deirdre." His tone grew sharper and he awarded her arm with a suggestive little squeeze.

Instantly those dark eyes of hers became angry. "What's wrong with you, Matt? Bad day?"

The exiled agent watched her a moment as she glared, pondering the most effective means of keeping her away. Being a human was filled with disadvantages. Were he an agent he could have just killed her, but now that was not an option. He would have to improvise. An idea came to him. His expression diminished as he pulled away and wandered to the kitchenette almost haphazardly. When he came to the counter he stopped, took a breath and met her puzzled face. "I've had a bad day. You see at the office I work with a dozen or so individuals who are, for the most part, pleasant and easy to communicate with. But there is one young lady who is not very considerate towards others. You see, she is insecure and in denial of that fact even to herself, so she pushes and pushes and pushes herself into people's lives, begging for the attention and praise she thinks will prove her worth, demanding respect instead of earning it." 

A knife in the sink beckoned his hand and Smith took it, looking down with a smile. He hated the implications, but he was not without a sense of fun, especially since the change. His blue eyes slid up to her wary gaze in an easy-going manner. "What do you think I should do about this situation?"

Deirdre's brow knit as she stepped towards the door. "Fine, Matt. I'll come back later," she huffed, pushing herself through the threshold.

"Don't bother," he called and was rewarded with the slam of his door. Smith took a breath and tossed the knife into the sink. "Humans." They were so infantile in their existence, so utterly ridiculous to him. And now he was one—a breathing, feeling and hungry human being. His midsection was beginning to signal his brain of discomfort and hollowness, which caused him to look unconsciously towards the refrigerator. No. He wanted nothing of having to cook. The idea of handling food seemed repugnant to him. He wanted as little of that as possible.

Which made his choice odd, since most humans ate pizza with their fingers, but he reasoned that it was fast and he could use a fork if he so desired. Matthew Pryce wasn't much for pizza, himself. He enjoyed steak, potatoes and the occasional Chinese. Yet his junk drawer inevitably held at least one sale paper for pizza. "No home in America is complete without one," he mused unamusedly, taking the paper to his phone in the living room to dial.

On the other end of the phone a young girl picked up, took his order promptly and issued him a 30-minute ETA before hanging up. An efficient human, if they truly did exist. Smith placed the black phone back onto the charger and turned his attention to the PC nearby. He had every intention of not wasting time here. The sooner he found Psyche, the sooner Neo would be dead at his feet. If he could he would make the rebel suffer in recompense of this tiresome situation. Oh and how his thoughts were turned on that event, his future and Anderson's end. He thirsted for it, lusted for it and would ultimately die for it.

Pulling out the gray chair tucked within Pryce's oak desk Smith sat, booted the computer and watched as the Dell logo flashed blue onto the screen, then faded into the operating system startup. The desktop was simple—a picture of the moon, full and bright—and it was clean, its icons easily accessed and necessary. He found Matthew Pryce at least somewhat agreeable to live as. Of course Pryce was nothing as himself, however, and would be everything now as Smith.

Dial-up began and as soon as it did he was struck by a new sensation. It started subtly, the neurons firing a signal that increased as the seconds passed. Smith's lip curled into annoyance. It became all too apparent, as he tried to put it off, that inevitably he was going to have to fall victim to one of humanity's more intolerable failings. Still, he would not be human about this. It was a fact of his misfortunate life and when the internet had connected he stood up, exited his chair and wandered the familiar path of Pryce's apartment to a small blue room in the back. Pryce liked the sea.

Lifting the lid Smith exhaled his irritation, unzipped and stood for a moment, uncertain as to how to begin this process. Oh sure, programs had access to how humans functioned. He knew what was going on down there and knew what had to happen. But the feeling, the start he had taken for granted—as all programs did—and had to search through the memory of his unfortunate vessel until he accessed the appropriate thought patterns and muscle reactions that would trigger his body to respond.

And when it happened finally the exile narrowed his brow, living the sensations in a way Matthew had never taken the time to understand. It was both easier and harder to drive this body. Fundamentally different from how he operated as software, yet not so dissimilar to how hardware functioned. It was the difference between riding a bicycle and driving a car and instinct interacted differently with his executions than it did a human body built to understand the information.

When it stopped Smith was grateful. He took the necessary steps, zipped up and stepped away, catching his reflection in the mirror as his hand hit the light switch. But he did not make it from the bathroom right away. He paused a moment, suddenly interested in his new appearance. His hair was as dark as a raven and his eyes were like rain, clear and gray. Pryce did not consider himself as attractive as women seemed to and Smith had no opinion on it at all. He could see imperfections in the color of his irises, little flecks of stormy blue that interrupted the evenness of the gray. Smile lines hugged his lips, but not in an unattractive way. So like his appearance, yet different. And human. That was one fact he could not let go, _would never_ let go of his resent for. Human.

When his mirror shattered and tiny rivers of blood broke out across his hand, Smith finally turned the light off and exited the bathroom.

~~~~~~~

**Author**: _Ruse_ – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com  
**Disclaimer**: No infringement intended.  
**Feedback**: _Yes_! By all means, my precioussss, lemme know how I'm doing!  
**Archive**: Sure, just please let me know if you will, so I can stop by and see your site.

**A/N:** Okay, this is one of those chapters that I'm like…hmm, did that suck? So….I present it anyways. :-/

**To Reviewers:** I think I've got everyone, though if you're not in this list it's because ff.net deleted your review during that little time period where reviews were deleted. Doh! Sorry. I'll thank you next chapter!

Also: **lotrmatrix.hyperboards.com** – **LOTR/Matrix** forum for discussion, fiction and RPG. Play as a character in Middle-earth, The Matrix or a strange simulation where Middle-earth IS the Matrix!

**Trinity** – Thank you very much! I'm glad you liked this as I enjoyed reading yours. :-)

**Lauren K** – Thanks for the review! Deranged Smith fan, eh? You too? ;-) Glad you liked this!

**Gila Draper** – Thankie, thankie! Smith/Neo, eh? I hadn't planned that unfortunately, but it's a thought, eh? :-)

**Sarah** – I'm gratified to hear my Smith is in character…I wonder sometimes. :-O Hehehe. Can but try, eh? Thanks! Hope you enjoyed this chapter as well! There was really too little of him in Reloaded…but he was so delightfully sarcastic. ;-)

**Bachy A** – Thanks, my friend! :-) I could hear Hugo saying a lot of things…like, "Angela, you're so beautiful…" and well, the rest I won't divulge. ;-) Okay, I'll behave now. At any rate, happy you enjoyed and think this is good enough for your site!

**CanSpy** – Hehehe…speaking of Merovingian. ;-) I'm honored you would say that. I'm enjoying my step into Matrix fiction…Smith is the chocolate cake of characters, I'll say that. ;-) Thank you very much!

**Selina** – Hehehe..yes, it wasn't until my second time around I noticed the Twin saying "We are getting aggravated." Hehehe. After hearing that I walked around saying that for a day and a half. ;-) Thanks.

**Mort** – Hmm…were you the one whose review disappeared on me? Seems to me you were. Well, thanks for reviewing again if that's indeed what you did. :-) Thank you very much for the compliments! :-D Means a bunch!

**Control** – Thankie! I'm happy you liked last chapter and can only hope you like this one as well. :-)


	4. Copy and Paste

**Mimic  
**Copy and Paste**  
  
**

Brown and Jones have an interesting, albeit strange, proposal for the exiled Agent Smith.  But what of the cost of entering the real world to assassinate Neo?

~~~~~~~

Exiles could be remarkably human at times.  This was, presumably, because they were not confined to the strict programming that an Agent was.  This was the reason they were not viewed highly by the Agents, why the Mainframe did not allow them to roam free.  Exiles, like humans, had a tendency to get into the cookie jar before dinner.  Being one did not give him a sudden freedom to behave the same way.  He still did not relish the idea.

He was not Smith.  Not the original copy, anyway.  Not the Smith that had become a human to kill Neo.  In a way, he presumed, he was not even supposed to exist.  He was a copy designed to control the original Smith, to make him feel more agreeable about sacrificing himself for the sake of the foolish mission to which he had been assigned.  The Smith copy gazed out the car window, wondering now what his other self was doing.  The other Smith had not believed his copy would make it past the first few moments of existence.  And he might not have, had it not been for his two captors holding him here in this stylish and expensive car.

The bass was turned up all the way on a particularly bouncy song, jarring the seats, windows and passengers of the Audi.  It was loud and obnoxious despite the fact that he did not have conventional ears to harm or a conventional mindset to irritate.  It bothered him because it was human.  Unnecessarily overstated and troublesome to a program that wanted answers, but could not retrieve them over the noise.  In this he missed being connected to the Agent hive.  You knew what needed to be said and done.  Now he was connected to no one.  Certainly not these two fools.

The white-clad, white-haired and very pale skinned man beside him shook his head to the music smartly, knowing the former Agent was not exactly amused.  He gave a little grin and held up his gun, pretending to shoot Smith in the head.  The Smith copy gave a wry little smile of his own, knowing it was only a matter of time.  Exiles, like humans, were imperfect.  Their time would come; they would make a mistake and he would end their existence just as he had other exiles before them.

The car eased to a near stop at a red light.  Seeing the intersection bare, the Twin in the driver's seat gazed around and blew through it, apparently cautious about causing trouble and yet uncaring enough to break the human laws if it were convenient.  These two were his captors, yes, so human-like and so strange, but they were also his saviors.  They had prevented his destruction by the hands of Brown and Jones for their own purposes and had probably cemented the obsoletion of the two older Agent versions.  Neither savior nor his would-be murderers meant anything to him, of course, but Smith found the situation almost ironic.  For all he used to be and all that he was now, he did not belong to either of their worlds, but he would use what he knew of both to become something greater.

Once copied, he had been locked in a car, unable to escape.  This was what was pulled over the human eyes watching from their little fantasy world.  Of course in reality his program had been, in a manner of speaking, quarantined within some temporary memory sector of the physical megadrive that contained the Matrix coding, but even to his own eyes it appeared as though he had been locked within a vehicle with locked doors he could not access and windows that could not be broken.  Brown, Jones and his original program had left him there to see about the matter concerning the human Smith was to inhabit.

He had not seen the Twins watching the car, watching him with purpose, and so had not counted upon the help he had received.  The Smith copy had assumed when the Agents returned he would be deleted if he could not manage to overcome them.  Confirmation came when instead of opening his own door to drive, Jones had opened one of the back doors instead.  Almost immediately after his hand came from the door handle this very car in which Smith rode now plowed into the Agent, knocking him away.  The Twin that sat in the back with him had wasted no time in opening his own door and jerking Smith from his prison, only to cage him again with a special gun he called an "Agent Terminator".  It had bullets written specifically to strip the coding from Agent programs and though he was an exile, he was still an Agent at the core of his programming.  The Twin claimed it would not be a pleasant process if he were shot.  And that was what had led him to this.

It was dark outside.  Cool and as silent as a whisper.  There was very little he could use as a distraction unless the Mainframe deemed he and these two important enough to chase—which he doubted.  Still, they had to wonder who would bother kidnapping an exiled Agent program, or bother hiring one and for what purpose, depending on how they viewed the incident of earlier.  Yet there was no sign of a retrieval, so he started by speaking when the music died down.  His tone became sardonic as he fished for information.  "When we get where we are going will there be more of you?"

The Twin at his side grinned and looked up at his copy.  "Oh listen, it speaks, brother."  The one in front eyed him through the rearview mirror with a smart expression as his so-called 'brother' continued.  "What a strange question you ask.  Would it make a difference?"

Smith watched him through an unchanging expression, cocked his head.  "It may."

"In what way?"

"Tolerance levels."  The Smith copy smirked at the knit brows of the one beside him.  "An interesting trick, copying one's self.  Can you do it at will or were you copied as I was, by another?"

The Twin turned his vision back to his window and ignored the question blatantly.  The music faded back into the atmosphere and Smith considered lunging into the front seat, if only to smash the radio.  This program's silence suggested more than any lie he could have fabricated.  He guessed, or hoped, that the Twins could in fact replicate at will.  The question was how.  It was something he had been considering since these two misfortunate creatures had captured him.  Such an attractive thought, overpowering Neo by sheer numbers.  He had no allies that he could trust, but an army of himself?  It was an interesting idea.

"Where are you taking me?" he demanded above the music.  The Twin beside him turned to him in annoyance, holding up his gun suggestively.  Smith glared steadily.

"If you must know, our boss would like to have a little word with you," he answered, sharing the unbroken gaze.  "You would do well not to try his patience, little one.  You're in our world now."

The copy of Smith shrugged off the threat, having no intention of meeting this boss of theirs.  It could be assumed, judging by all appearances, that he was being taken to the Merovingian—a dangerous program with his own agendas that sometimes rivaled those of the Mainframe.  He had an affinity for collecting rare programs that he could put to his own uses.  Smith grunted and glared from his window at a young lady on the street, her eyes sunken and her demeanor clearly drunken or drugged.  He would not be collected and commandeered to purposes that were not his own.  Merovingian would have to find another to be his new pet.

The Audi turned a corner suddenly and entered a darkened street.  It followed this path, leaving Smith to ponder what it was he would have to do to win his freedom.  Whatever he did, it would be dangerous against this weapon the Twins held.  He had no doubt the bullets from their guns would harm him.  He had heard enough about the Merovingian to understand he was a master programmer.  People who underestimated the Merovingian ended their existence shortly afterwards.  Still, that did not make him unbeatable.

As the car rolled into a large parking garage Smith recognized that his time was running short.  He would have to make a move here and now, if at all.  So he waited for the right moment, watching the movements of his captors, cataloging reflexes and attention spans.  Once the car was parked, the Twins both exited and the driver now took to training his gun upon the ex-Agent copy in the backseat.  His brother opened the door and they demanded that he get out.

Smith obeyed, but did not follow at their beckon.  "Come on, then," the Twin with the gun on him said, waving his weapon impatiently.  "You won't be getting out of this."

The Agent lifted his hands in innocence.  "Very well."  His pleasant smile seemed to trouble the Twins as he took a step forward.  One turned his back on him, leading the way while the other waited with his gun to take up a place behind Smith.  A door on the other side of the colorless garage was their target.

The Twin ahead opened it hastily and beyond Smith saw a quite beautifully decorated hallway.  So this was a backdoor.  Smith glanced at the door knob as the Twin gripped it, turning the key to remove it.  His chance had finally come.  Before either of these two programs could react, Smith slammed his fist into the first Twin's hand, causing an irritated yelp and an instinctive drawing back of the now wounded flesh.  The ex-Agent took that chance to rip the key from the lock and slam the Twin into the house beyond with the closing of the door.

"That was very naughty," the remaining Twin said with a grin, holding the gun up and firing.  Smith dodged the near point-blank shot and kicked his assailant in the stomach, surprised to find that the form had shifted.  He watched the color of this colorless being fade out to near nothing and the digital face of this program became almost wraith-like in appearance.  The Smith copy's foot passed through air and off-balance, he nearly toppled over.  The Twin laughed and reformed a little further away, then aimed.

Smith moved fast, knowing time was not on his side.  His speed was quick, an Agent's privilege as dodging was, so he was able to escape the shower of bullets that followed his tail.  He leapt behind the nearest automobile and rolled beneath one beside it, watching the Twin's feet until he rose to a crouch.  The Twin was heading towards him with laughter on his lips.  "One thing about you Agents," he began, checking between the cars, even as Smith raced to hide himself down the line of them.  "You almost always assume yourselves unbeatable.  But now you will find out the truth, yes?"

He was being goaded, of course, into giving away his position with a reply.  Smith knit his brow and considered his options.  The keys in his hand contained the one for the Audi—his means of escape, but he was very interested in something else.  Thinking of his original copy playing human proved he was no stranger to risk these days.  And so he flattened himself to the floor and rolled beneath a van, waiting for his chance and watching those feet as they closed in upon his position.

The Twin kicked a car beside him and kept walking, slowly and quietly, listening and probing for a clue.  "You have stopped moving," he observed coldly, then sighed.  "You are an irritating little program."

Smith fought the urge to rebuke the Twin for his personality and scooted closer to the side he was on, waiting for the right moment.  Just a little closer, only a few feet…

When the Twin hit a predetermined spot Smith had picked out, he stopped and the Agent moved to grab his leg and trip him, but the Twin had bent down.  Neither had expected such sudden movements from the other, but both were quick to recover.  Smith darted his hand out and instead of grabbing the Twin's leg, he snagged some of the program's long dreadlocks and gave a yank.

With a rage filled yell the Twin hit the ground head first, twisted and pointed the gun as best he could, and shot blindly beneath the van.  Smith cursed and dragged himself out of harm's way, thinking how foolish his opponent was.  If a bullet didn't kill him, hitting the gas tank would kill _both_ of them.

Neither happened, however.  The Twin stopped firing, apparently empty, and the Agent took full advantage.  He delivered a kick directly into the Twin's stomach, then scrambled from beneath the van to pin the other down to the concrete beneath them.  "You have not won!" the virus program spat venomously, struggling with the Smith copy.  He landed a punch into Smith's jaw, but the Agent paid no mind.  These struggles were fruitless between programs such as them.  What harm could either cause in this manner?

But Smith had something else in mind.  Having this Twin where he wanted him, the Agent thrust his hand into his chest before he could shift again.  He was not without his new tricks, thanks to a certain rebel he despised.  Agents did not interface with either programs or digitally represented humans in this manner.  They simply used the humans as operating environments when it suited them, then left when it suited them.  But this, ever since Anderson had interfaced with him as he had and mingled their coding, Smith found he could access people in a whole new way.  He could download information, upload it and even edit certain codes to make people more attractive, change their personalities and numbers of other things.

This time he would be downloading.  Smith had little time, so he did not waste it searching through this Twin's subroutines thoroughly.  He was looking for one specific thing.  Instead of making two beings become one as his original had done, he wanted to create dozens of himself—a subroutine Agents did not possess, but apparently this being did.  The Twin watched him behind his sunglasses, his eyes wide in shock that an Agent could violate his coding in such a way.  Smith pushed his shoulders to the cold floor and said, "Think of it as a gift from Neo.  I know I do."

Once Smith found what he was looking for and downloaded it into himself, he shoved the Twin away and got up.  He did not continue the fight, there was no need.  He had what he needed—a means to an end.  The Twin did not pursue him to the Audi or stop him from leaving the garage with it.  Once on the road, Smith smiled darkly at his success and the success this would bring about.

Back in the garage, as if on some horribly ironic cue, the gray backdoor opened and the other Twin raced out with a gun, searching and calling, with two lackeys at his back.  "Brother," he said, coming into view of the one laying on the concrete.  He held out his hand and aided him to his feet.  "Where is the Agent?"

Rubbing his chest, the Twin replied, "Gone."

His brother glared at the open garage door and holstered his gun.  "Damn." 

~~~~~~~

**Author**:  _Ruse_ – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com  
**Disclaimer**:  No infringement intended.  
**Feedback**:  _Yes_!  By all means, my precioussss, lemme know how I'm doing!  
**Archive**:  Sure, just please let me know if you will, so I can stop by and see your site.  
**lotrmatrix.hyperboards.com** – **LOTR/Matrix** forum for discussion, fiction and RPG.  Play as a character in Middle-earth, The Matrix or a strange simulation where Middle-earth IS the Matrix!

**A/N:**  Sorry it's been a while, but I've been sick. :-O  Anyway, this chapter was gonna be something totally different, but I got struck with this idea and hope it's acceptable.  :-D

**To Reviewers:**

**Bachy A** – Thankya very much!  Glad you're enjoying! :-D  Means a bunch!

**ShiroNeko** – Hehehe…glad you liked the line. ;-)  I tried to be as, well…Smithie as I could.  :-D  Hope you continue to enjoy!  Thanks!

**Mort** – Yes, Smith definitely IS a god. ;-)  Such a cool character…I enjoy writing him. :-D  Thank you!

**Lorraine1** – Thank you!  I'm honored you merit this for favs list!

**Selina5** – Thank you.  Hehe…I thought I might as well join the list of people adding toilet scenes to their works. ;-)  Hehehe.  Sheeshers, though…I could do without having to go myself!

**Leth2** – Eee!  Hearing you say that makes me blush and feel all warm inside. ;-) Aaaw…thank you.  I'm so pleased people like this so well.  Makes me glad I delved into Matrix!

**Arabwel** – Thankya Thankya.  Yes, Smith looks all Elrondy. ;-)  Whew!  Who wouldn't love that? :-D  Sadly though, no long hair, which I love.

**White** **Rabbit – Thanks!  Hope you drop by again and enjoy what you see.**

**Sarah** – Hehe…I'm used to going bathroom and still find it a bit silly. ;-)  I mean when you look at it abstractly, it just seems weird, you know. ;-)  Lol.  Thank you muchly.  I'm glad how I'm handling him is acceptable…I couldn't have Smith without his delightfully sarcastic evil manner. ;-)

**CanSpy** – Thanks muchly.  Yes, in following with the W's, I try to add little things that mean stuff instead of being random.  Nothing wrong with random, but I thought I'd give it a shot somewhat.  Not that a green hat on a paperboy means something huge, but you know. ;-)  I tried to be selective about some of the names that way, anyway.  Anyway, thank you very much!

**Stormhawk** – Eee!  I got more stuff from you to read waiting for me and I plan on getting there ASAP!  You write so cool!  Anyway, thanks for reading my humble Matrix fic and some of my LOTR stories. :-D  It means a bunch!


	5. Invitation to the Real World

**Mimic  
**Invitation to the Real World**  
  
**

Brown and Jones have an interesting, albeit strange, proposal for the exiled Agent Smith.  But what of the cost of entering the real world to assassinate Neo?

~~~~~~~

There was but one source of illumination giving the room some sense of life and even that was slim.  Shadows wrapped around corners and caressed long fingers down the walls in reflection of various things catching the light bleeding off the monitor.  It was a cold light, sickly and green from a desktop image too dark to offer much vision to the corners of the room.  Not that he cared.  He was not human enough to require the comfort of having a light on unnecessarily.  Exile Smith sat with his back against the chair, his brows knit and beneath those were two gray eyes that were closing of their own volition.

He was not above sleeping.

She had not two minutes ago said she would be right back and he waited with transcendent patience, for his goal was within sight.  Smith looked beyond the little message screen bearing their names, his eyes fixated upon a picture of Anderson he had found while looking for information on the rebels.  It was a shot taken by human police during a chase after Neo and his little band of merry men had been caught in a warehouse, hacking into a government file.  These little shows were necessary, Smith had reasoned, so that other hackers out there unaware of their own reality would know who to turn to, who to look for to quell their curiosities.

In the photo Neo was running away, but had stopped a split second to turn—presumably watching out for his friends—and the perfect pose had been captured, cropped and posted to all the usual places—post office, newspapers, internet wanted lists.  His brown eyes were set slightly wide, almost in fear and Smith liked to imagine Anderson was watching his beloved Trinity die by the exile's own hands.  Smith could almost feel her neck within the grasp of his hands, now that he understood warmth so well.  He could feel the softness of velvety skin, the shiver of a swallow and the force of a struggle.  Then it would be all over.  With a crack she would be gone, one less rebel to prolong his endless task.  Anderson would stop, would turn and look at her lying there almost just like this picture.  And then he would fall.

There was a small indicative ring which called his attention away from his dark thoughts.  His key to Zion had returned from wherever it was she had stolen away to.  He wondered, then, if she were sitting upon some ship in the Real World speaking or 'jacked in' as they liked to put it.  This rebel called herself Psyche and at first had seemed a bit standoffish until he had hinted at suspecting the Matrix.  He had even gone so far as to theorize the government might be running experiments upon the citizens of America, altering their brain patterns to hide certain truths about their country—that he wasn't sure, but knew _something was wrong with the world.  After that comment she had been quiet, then asked a simple question.  __Have you ever heard of the Matrix?_

He called himself Mimic, a title he thought appropriate even if he thought these overdramatic handles were pointless.  Mimic had gone on to say he had heard the term and read something about a 'mind simulation' but that he had not understood the whole story behind it and was curious to know more.  Three days ago that had been and since then she was online every night, talking to him about seemingly random things, skirting around the issue of the Matrix so she could feel him out he imagined.  He did not push her too much, but was certain to hint at his curiosity enough to keep her questioning whether or not she should tell him the truth.

Tonight things were different.  Tonight there was no random chatter, no talk of the weather or health or politics.  She was finally ready to tell him those things never really mattered, proven by what she had just typed to him.  _Would you like to meet?_

A small smile curved Smith's lips as he gazed at her words written in a red font.  An odd color, he thought.  Red like blood.  _I must admit I have been eager to meet you, Psyche.  Our chats have piqued my interest in this 'Matrix' you speak of.  Will you now tell me what it is you have been hiding?_

There was a pause then, as if she were still considering whether or not she should.  Perhaps she was conferring with another rebel or taking a sip of coffee.  But she did not remain away for long.  Her choice had been made.  _I think you're ready to know.  You may be in danger if we go through with this.  You aren't usually the type my people talk to._

_What type of people do you talk to, then?  I am not worried over danger_, he replied, waiting for an insight into why they chose who they chose.  The Mainframe calculated the choice was likely derived from various factors including age, awareness of the Matrix and general technological understanding.

Her response was typical of her enigmatic façade.  _It's not important._  _I'm warning you, Mimic.  What I may choose to tell you tonight will change everything you think you know.  If you really want to do this then go to the corner of 5th and Oak around __midnight__.  Wait there._

A seemingly innocuous place to go.  It was a few blocks away with a little camera shop at the corner.  Not a place usually populated in the dark hours of night.  Smith shot a look at the corner of the monitor and saw it was 11:43.  That would give him just enough time to get there.  _All right_, he typed and sent, with the intent to type more, but she logged off quite immediately.  Smith grunted his assessment of that and closed the chat window down, leaving a newspaper clip of Morpheus on the screen and that image of Anderson he was so fond of.  How different things would have been had he obtained those codes instead of letting their captain slip threw his fingers.  If only he had at least killed the wretched human in retribution!

As he pushed back his chair the intense silence of the room was suddenly violated by a loud knock upon his front door.  Smith looked again at the time and cursed, then raised his voice, saying, "I warn you, Deirdre, I am in no mood.  Leave my door or suffer the consequences."  On and off she had returned, throwing herself at him with crass charm and low cleavage.  Each time he allowed his disgust to show and yet she returned.  How paradoxical humans could be, and utterly stupid.

But it was not his night stalker that called.  The voice that called back was familiar and laden with concern.  "Yo, Pryce!  It's me.  Tony.  Open up, will ya?"

Smith grit his teeth in irritation, but showed no other signs as he stepped from his desk and came to the door.  He unbolted the latch and opened the door to Antonio Capella, his friend and co-worker.  He had curly black hair, warm brown eyes and tanned skin.  His head was tilted and his face was both troubled and a little miffed when he noticed the cold stare that came back from what should have been a friendly welcome.  "Tony," Smith said in a curt tone, standing defensively before the door to his apartment.

Tony looked beyond him into the dark room, knit his brow and met Smith's gaze.  "Geez, what's up with you, Pryce?  Haven't seen you at work, you haven't picked up _or answered any of our calls.  You're fired you know?  I didn't think I'd find you dead, but it looks like a tomb in there.  What's happened to you?"_

"A realization," Smith replied, urging Tony back as he exited the apartment and closed the door behind him.  "Now if you will excuse me."

Tony put a hand on his shoulder.  He was a man of larger build than Matthew Pryce and if it came to a struggle, Smith would lose the time he needed to get to 5th and Oak.  "Whoa, don't you blow me off like that.  We were tight as brothers and you're acting like I'm some stranger?  This isn't you."

Gripping the other man's wrist tightly and shoving his hand off his shoulder, the exile let the full depth of his coldness bleed through his gray eyes and dark tone.  Unblinking, he moved his gaze between Capella's hard, glassy eyes.  "You're right.  It isn't me.  I have somewhere to go."

"Are you doing drugs?"  It was a typically human question, perfectly logical for the times in which they lived.

Yet Smith could not refrain from laughing.  It was a soft laugh, amusement sharpened to a dangerous edge as he turned away and left without saying another word.  If he did not in any way conceive of the possibility that he was being watched by those outside the Matrix, he would have gladly killed his friend right there in so-called cold blood, but he knew better.  He would save the fun for he who mattered most.

His keen ears caught the sound of the doorknob of this apartment being twisted, the small creak of the door behind swung open.  He didn't care.  Let Capella look at his computer.  Let him see the truth for himself.  If he waited for Pryce to return, Smith had a feeling he would be waiting a long time.  Tonight he planned on seeing for himself what drove these humans to their foolish mission of freeing minds.  He would see just what it was that made the outside world so desirable versus having all one's desires at the mere distance of a fingertip.

So he left with that in mind, his driving purpose carefully concealed from the outside appearance.  To Psyche he would be the very picture of what he thought a rebel might be.  No, he did not believe they were all ruthless junkies that burned underwear in protest of authority.  No, he did not believe they were all depressed individuals with no life other than that which the net and the possibility of another reality could provide.  From his studies he quite honestly viewed a number of them as highly intelligent individuals—hackers, for the greater part, but not all of them despised the government, pop music and the mask portrayed by the mask—the Matrix that is superficiality opposing truth.

The picture he would portray would be that of a typical male of his age and persuasion.  He would be receptive, if somewhat skeptical.  Not overly eager, yet not willing to let them go without being led out of the Matrix.  As he left the apartment building and took to the night, Smith reasoned and calculated based upon all available data how he thought he should act, what things he believed he should say.  He forgot one thing up until actually meeting the humans he so sought after.

The street life was abuzz this Saturday night.  Cars could be heard in the distance and various eating establishments were open for business.  A soft wind dragged a piece of crumpled paper past his feet and the scent of drinking and dance.  Smith brushed a stray piece of raven-colored hair from his face, watching as it floated by.  Could the real world be any different?  You could give a human paradise, but could he ever treat it as such?  The ex-Agent looked at the orange, street-lit sidewalk stretching before him.  He did not believe humans capable of that.

Smith crossed several streets before coming to 5th and Oak just a few minutes before midnight.  His programming negated the need for a watch, fortunately, but even if he were late he had a feeling the humans would show up late as most do.  There was a certain drama, after all, in knowing you controlled someone else's time and therefore controlled their attention, for if you are late, do they not wonder where you are?  The exile grunted, leaned against the cold concrete wall of the camera shop and crossed his arms.  These people knew how to hold attention.  She had said and done all the things most humans would fall for and become ensnared by after testing him to see if he was what they wanted.  All for their foolish cause—freedom.  Did they not realize that they were trapping themselves in yet another prison?  One of poverty, war and strife?

The moments ticked away and he waited until about ten after midnight, when a dark blue car with black-tinted windows pulled up.  An electronic hum accompanied the lowering of a window and there in the driver's seat was a human male of about 30 years.  "You Mimic?" he asked gruffly.

Smith pushed himself from the building, wearing knit brows and a small smile.  "And if I am?"

The human threw his thumb towards the backseat of the vehicle.  Indulging drama, the Agent said nothing and got in.  When he sat down, he realized he may have made an error in not wearing sunglasses.  The woman in the backseat with him—Psyche by her description of dark eyes, tan skin and dark hair—removed her sunglasses and widened her eyes when she saw him, but seemed to pause and consider.  She gasped and in an instant there were two guns on him from the front.  "What is it, Psyche?" the driver asked, eyeing Smith with the utmost of caution and dislike.

She did not reply right away, merely studied him as if she had seen him before, and Smith tensed.  So she recognized him.  He would have to abandon this mission.  And yet…  "Nothing," the woman finally said, shaking her head.  Those eyes of hers had made the decision that perhaps she had not seen him before after all, or that even if she knew his face, it could not be who she thought it was.  "You looked familiar, but I couldn't place where I've seen you before."

The exile relaxed his guard only slightly.  "I couldn't say.  Do you live around here?"  Of course she didn't.

"Maybe that's it," Psyche replied, her eyes covering perhaps another thought.  She made no mention of it, however and that fact threatened him.  "So you are Mimic.  Strange name.  Where did you come by it?"

His answer was flawlessly schooled.  "My friend gave it to me when I first took an interest in computers.  I was not the quickest study on codes, so he teased me, saying I was not a true hacker.  Only mimicking one."  He flashed her a soft, almost embarrassed smile.  "I suppose the name stuck."

"This friend, he was a hacker?"  Smith nodded and she continued in her deep voice, curious caution bleeding off her inflections.  "What was his name?  Perhaps I knew him."

The exile cocked his head, wearing that smile again.  "He called himself AJ.  My friends and I claimed it stood for 'abnormal joke' as he was ever fond of telling and we were ever fond of accusing him of being."

She tilted her red-painted lips up slightly, commenting, "Nice friends."  Her dark shades quickly found her nose once more and the car began rolling.  "You're a different one, Mimic.  Not usually the type I look for."

"Really?" Smith asked, turning his gaze towards the back of the seat before him.  Another human male was seated, red hair giving Smith the only clue as to what he might look like.  "What a shame."  He gave her a grin that went unanswered.  Humans were truly strange.  His window was unfortunately too dark to look out.

"Still," Psyche continued on, "You know a lot.  You don't seem too easily surprised, therefore I believe you may be able to handle the truth that I offer.  And…"  Now it was she who smiled, he who declined to return the expression.  "I like you."

The ex-Agent cocked an eyebrow.  "Indeed?"  She nodded without modesty, without hint that those feelings were anything but the mere interest a person might have in a stray animal.  "So what is this shocking truth you offer?"

There was no speech, no preparation, no waiting for him to understand the possibilities before the revelation.  "The real world."

~~~~~~~

**Author**:  _Ruse_ – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com  
**Disclaimer**:  No infringement intended.  
**Feedback**:  _Yes_!  By all means, my precioussss, lemme know how I'm doing!  
**Archive**:  Sure, just please let me know if you will, so I can stop by and see your site.  
**lotrmatrix.hyperboards.com** – **LOTR/Matrix** forum for discussion, fiction and RPG.  Play as a character in Middle-earth, The Matrix or a strange simulation where Middle-earth IS the Matrix!

**A/N:**  Sorry again for the long time between updates…still been a little under the weather. :-P :-D

**To Reviewers:**

**Kedi – Hehehe!  Aaw, glad you liked it so much!! :-D  Sorry it took a while for me to get the point. ;-)  Thanks!**

**Stormhawk – Glad you liked last chapter!  Aaw, thanks for the compliment!  *sniff*  Thanks a bunch!**

**Lorraine**** T – Thanks!  Well, as for the Twins…I really didn't see too many places to refer to them as a double unit…hehehe.   So that's why none of the "We are getting aggravated".  But I'm glad you liked it anyway! :-D  Thank you so much…and yes, long hair is better.  *drool*  I could comb my fingers through Rondy's hair for hours. ;-)  Great work on your Elrond story…as soon as I post this I'm going to finish!  Woohoo!**

**Choptsicks – Thanks! :-D  Well, I didn't take the idea of the Twins cloning from anything definite in Reloaded…I just assumed because they were two, they weren't separate programs…but copies of the same.  And that, given motivation or possibility, they could be coded to replicate if they so chose, as viruses in the real world often do. :-)  Anyway, I hadn't thought of doing the Bane scene…but hey, maybe I could just to explore Smith's thoughts during.  Hmmm.  Anyway, thank you for the high praise!  *sniff*  Means a bunch!**

**Sarah** – Thankie muchly!  I'm glad you liked how I handled the Smith stuff.  I figure, you can run two instances of Sound Recorder, but they don't have to be playing the same sound, ya know?  Anyway, I'm glad you're liking this! :-D

**CanSpy – Thanks for the nod! :-)  Here's your Pryce…hope you liked it.  :-O :-X hehehehe.  Thank you muchly for reading. :-)**

**Alocin – I'd like a pet Smith myself. ;-) Eeeee!  Thanks for the review, they all just make me grin with delight!  Means a bunch!**


	6. One Way to Find Out

**Mimic  
**One Way to Find Out

Brown and Jones have an interesting, albeit strange, proposal for the exiled Agent Smith.  But what of the cost of entering the real world to assassinate Neo?

**Warning**:  Ahead might be some spoilers.  Don't know…haven't read any.  The possible explanations for the Matrix are only speculations that I decided to form into this story.  But I thought I'd warn you, just in case, if you don't want any preconceived possibilities for Revs, don't go on.

~~~~~~~

A slow rhythmic melody coursed through the interior of the car as Smith considered the humans surrounding him.  The real world, this rebel had said and the fact that she said it so freely made him contemplate, wondering if she said that to all the inductees.  He watched her a moment as she watched him, both weighing the other with concealed thoughts.  The car turned down a dark road that bled away from the rushing night life and he inhaled deeply.  "The real world?" he repeated, pretending to taste the phrase and the possibilities.  Of course he would be called upon by trickery to have no answer.  "What do you mean?"

The corner of her red lips tugged upwards into a crooked smile.  She hesitated reflectively and he fought off irritation at the slow coming of a fact he was already aware of.  "I mean what seems to be is not really there.  Would you consider believing that this world around you is not real?"

Smith stole a glance out the windshield ahead, playing the game as he thought a human would.  "Not real.  I suppose that would depend on what that meant."  He knit his brow and looked to her for the guidance she so willingly would offer.

Psyche looked him over, then reached out, taking his hand.  He expected some sort of gentle caress, something to draw him with her charms to the choice he must make and was abruptly surprised when she took the flesh between her fingers and twisted.  He did not have to pretend to be annoyed; yanked his hand away and frowned upon her mischievous little grin.  She continued despite that and he wondered then also if she harmed every other individual they interviewed.  "What if I told you just then that I had not really pinched you?  That I had not really touched you at all?"

"Get to the point," he suggested impatiently, rubbing the flesh more out of anger of what that pain represented rather than any real upset about the actual feeling.  He hated that these humans could so manipulate his senses and each other's with little more effort than a touch.

"So angry, Mimic," she observed in reply.  "You may find it is misdirected.  What I mean is this.  What you see is not real.  You had talked about a "mind-sim" and that is precisely what you are taking part in right now."

Smith effectively looked at her with a dubious, if interested, expression.  His response was weighed, then spoken.  "All right.  So, who is responsible?  If what you say is correct, tell me then, how many are affected?  All of America?  More?"

Psyche shook her head softly, eyes invisible behind those dark shades and therefore her thoughts hidden as well.  Yet he could well imagine what she would be feeling now.  Pity that she had to tell him the grand scale, that nearly the whole of their pathetic race had been enslaved into a life he viewed better than whatever could be out there in the dead breadth of the earth.  "There is no America, Mimic.  There is no England, no China, no Africa or Iraq.  None of that matters anymore, for you see, the entire world is lost within this false reality.  They are asleep and dreaming."

That would not be immediately believable to any human hearing it for the first time.  He grunted at the idea, appearing as though he were trying to divine whether or not she was insane or lying.  He selected his reply from pop-culture's current explanation for the unknown.  "The entire world?  You're not going to try and sell me some lurid tale of extra-terrestrials are you?  If so, you may stop the car now."

She laughed at that.  "No, our slave masters are quite indigenous, I'm afraid."  Her tone decreased as she mused sadly, "Made by our own hand.  Every God's children run astray."  Matthew Pryce mixed with Smith would have rolled his eyes if the software part of him would have allowed such a human gesture.

The car eased to a halt, but because of the tint on his window Smith could not see where they had stopped.  Humans _would turn themselves into the martyred divinity, the creator that mourns his creation.  He turned to her with a measured degree of interest and disbelief.  "Let's say I believe you.  What then?"_

At this prompting, her small hand disappeared into the pocket of her leather jacket, then returned with a little, non-descript bottle from which she removed something.  Two somethings he saw soon enough.  She turned her palm up, opened her hand and there were two little capsules there, gleaming red and blue.  "The blue pill will make you feel sleepy.  While you are unconscious it will alter your memories…cloud them, if you will.  You may remember me, you may remember nothing.  We will see you safely home and that will be that.  The red one will allow us to find you."

He looked down at the little programs, each written to do a separate task and yet tied together by necessity.  He wondered at the red coloring of her chat font, thinking perhaps she chose that color to entice the subconscious into making the desirable choice.  "Find me," he said, meeting her steady gaze.  "Will I wake up somewhere else?"

Psyche nodded once, then tapped the driver's shoulder.  Instantly Smith's window began to descend.  Outside was an abandoned building with the word 'truth' spray-painted in white on the unwashed brick.  Humans were so utterly inane.  "If you choose the red pill, I will tell you that you are taking the harder road, Mimic.  I won't lie to you.  If you feel a pleasant falsehood more preferable to the truth, take the blue.  I'll give you water and you can forget the questions, forget the Matrix and forget me.  But if you want understanding, take the red and we'll go into that building."

A wry smile wound its way onto his mouth, an expression he felt appropriate.  "When you open the door, what will I see?"

"There's one way to find out."  She cocked her head and waited.

Of course he took the red pill.  Psyche halted him from taking it right away, motioned towards the building and opened her car door.  Almost absently Smith pictured his enemy in this position, pictured the young Thomas Anderson stepping out of a car, perhaps with a silent Morpheus leading the way.  He wondered then what had gone through Anderson's mind to cause him to choose the red.

Psyche's underlings disappeared into the building, momentarily leaving him alone with her.  Her face was grave as she removed her sunglasses and looked him up and down with that same weighing look she had when she thought she had recognized him.  "Go in.  They will take you to where you should be.  Tell them I'm making a call.  I won't be a moment."  She opened the door for him, never taking her eyes from his face as he walked passed her.

When the door shut behind him, he wondered if he had not sealed his own doom.  Who would she call at a time like this?

~~~~~~~

A form nearby threatened his attention with glittering eyes that he knew without looking were upon him.  The bedroom was dark aside from the light bleeding from his terminal and the delicate tiffany lamp turned on low upon his desk.  Persephone was lying there on their large bed, her arms crossed beneath her cheek and a sheet carelessly draped across her feet.  The Merovingian pulled his eyes away from the screen and slid them down the soft, silken form of her back, on up into her face.  She did not smile when he smiled, did not change expression at all beneath his deadly scrutiny.

Exhaling, he looked again at the screen, monitoring the Agent program he had so meticulously altered.  He had wondered what the effect would be, should he alter this one, this chosen one he would change into an anomaly.  He had sought to disturb the delicate balance that the Architect had established and it had turned out quite interestingly.  The Architect…thinking of him brought a sneer to the Merovingian's lips.  Two could play god, but in the end only one would win and he planned to be the victor.

So the humans believed whole heartedly that they had escaped the Matrix.  They chose freedom and assumed they left the lies the Architect constructed for them.  Merovingian had found it very amusing once upon a time, their dreams of freedom, handed to them even as they were never truly given.  What they saw as their Real World was nothing more than another simulation—a fact only the highest or smartest of programs were aware of.  Merovingian had learned quite easily when he had begun to study the Matrix and the percentage of humans that rejected it.  And it was a simple answer that the Architect had created to this problem.  Give them a choice—_fool them into believing they made that choice.  When he had learned the Real World was not real, he had laughed._

Now he simply wanted to change his age-long duty.  To test and to watch, for such was his nature.  He enjoyed causing and manipulating, creating and destroying.  It had become his passion ever since he had been altered by the one the humans whispered of, this first incarnation of a Messiah that could alter the Matrix at will, this one they had waited for to be reborn into Neo.  The irony was that Smith was not the first artificially intelligent software to be altered by communion with a human being.  Of course the difference was the first time had been an accident.  The second had been an afterthought of a hope after Merovingian had changed Smith and drove him to be discontent.  Neo had given Smith what had been given to him once upon a time—a spark of life, or so he called it.  The human had taken what had been done to Smith a step further and Merovingian was eager to see what effects this would have.

He wondered also when the Architect would call him on meddling with the balance.

Instead of deleting a defective program as he possibly could have done in the beginning, the Architect had decided the Merovingian could be used to his advantage.  Thus he created the Path of the One, modeling each after the first anomaly that had manipulated the Matrix and sending each one here.  Five previous times had this chosen one been directed to the Merovingian to gain the Keymaker and he was quite plainly tired of it.  So he warned the Oracle not to send Neo here and so he altered Smith, wondering what effect this pebble in the stream would have upon the balance.  It could possibly destroy the Matrix…or it could do nothing.  Outwardly, he did not care.  Somewhere inside though, he wondered if he might just want total destruction.  The ultimate effect.

"You have been awake all night.  Will you ever come to bed?" Persephone's voice called to him.  He looked up again, made love to that body with his eyes and this time was rewarded by a smile.  So dangerous their love had become.  Cold and yet not without a flame of fun.  She was becoming too interested in his more secret doings, too afraid to incur the wrath of the precious Architect.  He wondered if she had guessed the inner-most workings of his mind.  He would not put it past her.  She rose up with a sultry smile that meant nothing.  The only real passion they experienced now was the challenge between them.

Merovingian turned back towards the terminal, watching as the Smith program was traced by the humans.  "Go to sleep, Persephone."

He became aware of her stepping from the bed and walking his way.  Irritated, he turned the screen off and swirled his chair around to face her approach.  Her eyes lingered on the black face of the monitor, then found him with an equally cool expression as she had given that lifeless piece of code.  "You play a dangerous game, my love."

A grin spread across his lips as he leaned forward, took her hands and kissed them.  "What do you think I am playing at, my dear?"

"You don't think the Architect knows you are disrupting the Path of the One?"  She pulled her hands away.  "What do you think will happen if this is not played out the same way as it has always been?"

He looked at her with a bored expression.  "What do you think will happen?  Apparently you have some sort of cataclysmic conclusion.  Tell me."

Persephone's brow knit.  "You evade me by answering questions with questions."

Unexpectedly he slammed his fist down onto the desk, then glared up at her, angered by this ridiculous prying on her behalf.  "Damn it, Persephone, I ask these things to make you think!  What _do you think will happen?  Do you think I have not considered all possibilities?  Do you think the humans are the only form of intelligence that this forgery of a world has enslaved?"  Her eyes washed over him as she carefully considered and catalogued his response.  The Merovingian sat back in his chair, turned the screen back on and turned his back on her with a question.  "Are you working for him?"_

Her voice was harsh with resent, yet he placed no value in her response.  "You would accuse me of that.  Don't be foolish."

It would be revealed in time whether or not she sided with the Architect or with him.  Right now it mattered little.  Let her run back to him with information if that was what her game was.  The damage to the Path of the One had already been delivered.  Watching the Matrix feed Smith with a fantasy of waking up in the crop yards, he ignored her until her presence retreated back to the bed.

A knock at the door furthered his agitation, hardening his voice as he snapped, "Come in!"

Two forms entered, two beings and not three, and Merovingian's jaw clenched as he watched them approach.  The Twins could see his displeasure immediately, but did not hesitate to report.  "We lost the backup copy of the Agent," said one.

"He escaped with a car," finished the other.

He knew of it.  He had seen most of the fight on the security camera he monitored.  Merovingian folded his hands and regarded them, then let his thoughts drift off into the realms of possibility.  There was no use in reprimanding them for their sloppy work.  Both knew their wrong and both were valuable enough to be saved from termination.  Now he turned his thoughts on planning.  "Escaped with a car.  Where will he go, I wonder?"

The Twins exchanged glances and he could tell there was more news to be heard.  "There is something we think you should know."

Merovingian looked up.  "Yes?"

"He has stolen the subroutines to replicate himself from us."

That was certainly unforeseen.  He glanced at the screen before him, seeing another Smith within his mind.  This new Exile would have to be tracked and watched.  The possible effects of that particular outcome were boundless.  A slow smile spread across the Merovingian's lips.  "Interesting."

~~~~~~~

**Author**:  _Ruse_ – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com  
**Disclaimer**:  No infringement intended.  
**Feedback**:  _Yes_!  By all means, my precioussss, lemme know how I'm doing!  
**Archive**:  Sure, just please let me know if you will, so I can stop by and see your site.  
**lotrmatrix.hyperboards.com** – **LOTR/Matrix** forum for discussion, fiction and RPG.  Play as a character in Middle-earth, The Matrix or a strange simulation where Middle-earth IS the Matrix!

**A/N:**  Hope you njoyed!

**To Reviewers:**

**Sarah** – Hehehe..can't answer as to whether or not she recognized him.  One way to find out. ;-)  Thanks a bunch!  Glad you liked it!

**Alocin – Thanks!  Glad you liked…hope you continue to enjoy. :-)**

**da**** white rabbit – Thanks.  Yes…I was given a medicine I reacted badly to, but unfortunately at the time I thought I needed it and now I'm trying to get off of it.  I'm extremely sensitive to how it works, so getting off it isn't easy.  Bleh. :-)  Ah well.**

**CanSpy – Thank you muchly for your compliments.  I'm happy you like it and happy you find it suspenseful…I do like doing that. ;-)  Hehehe.  Twoo wuv. ;-) Hehehe…yeah really. :-D ;-)  **

**Selina – Hehehe..thanks!  It's not easy, meshing him between humanity and what's still machine.  :-O  I'm glad I'm doing it well enough. :-)  Thanks a bunch!!**


	7. Control

**Mimic  
**Control

Brown and Jones have an interesting, albeit strange, proposal for the exiled Agent Smith. But what of the cost of entering the real world to assassinate Neo?

~~~~~~~

When Agent Smith opened his eyes, he did not see correctly. They had given him the red pill, talked him through a rather uncomfortable situation during which their operator attempted to local Pryce's body and with a sudden, parting smile from the female captain he had accepted the choice from, he had been plunged into madness. It had all happened at a rapid rate. Dim images came to his thoughts in his first few minutes of awareness. He could see glass pods filled with pink liquid, a large machine stopping its task to investigate his awakening and then everything went black from there. He had a vague sensation of being pulled down, down and down until he gave in to the current and accepted his fate.

His fate, he had thought, would be to terminate. The human vessel had failed the task and he had been flushed out of the system, Matthew Pryce had become garbage to be recycled and swept back into the great circle as food to perpetuate the maintaining of his ungrateful race. This had not been his fate, however, apparently.

Smith had never quite felt like this before. He had seen it often enough, the battered and weary state of a human who had just suffered interrogation. Morpheus had looked such a way once upon a time and he had, admittedly, taken a degree of pleasure in seeing it, never bothering to wonder how it really and truly felt. Now he knew and there was no pleasure in it. Lacking the experience, he lacked the language to describe it except to say he had experienced something less terrible than this, yet similar, one morning when Deirdre had disturbed him from a dream one morning. Of course this made him considerably more irritated, but unfortunately he did not have the luxury of awarding those responsible with a threat as he had then.

His eyes were having trouble focusing. It seemed very strange to him, to have one's vision change. As an agent he had been programmed with an exact resolution and color depth at which he would process data and that figure never changed. This was intolerable. The darkness kept back most of the information of this world he could be analyzing and studying. Somewhere inside Matthew Pryce's instincts called for him to raise his hand over his vision to block the light coming from an overhead lamp nearby. Yet his arm failed to comply.

He was too weak to move, to do anything except lay there and that troubled Smith to a fundamental degree inside. It was like a glitch, only perpetual. When something changed in the Matrix all was stopped for the barest of seconds. Agents simply ceased to function, halting whatever actions they were performing for that tiny fraction of time. They even ceased to think. This was like that, being frozen, but different in that he could go on mentally. He could see, could choose, could rage inside and yet do little to express that. Questions raced through his thoughts. What was this? Had something gone wrong? How long would this last?

After a moment of futile emotion he realized his sensory perception was tracking other things than just his inability to see or move. He could hear things, quiet things being moved and set down, the steady beep of a monitor. Through dry lips, with tightened fists Agent Smith hissed, "Where am I?" into the dim.

A breath hit the air that was not his own. Steps identified to him that he had not been left unattended. When a dark-haired, dark-eyed young man came into view above him, his first impulse was to take hold of his throat and demand answers. He would have had he the strength. Looking down, the boy skimmed along him before meeting his eyes. "You're awake," he said cheerfully and Smith was tempted to revile him for such an obvious statement. "Good. Good. I'm Steel."

Licking his mouth as the boy left him to view a monitor, Smith made no attempt to hide his ire as he breathed raggedly, "Steel. Would you mind telling me where the hell I am, Steel?" He assumed his whereabouts and despised having to pretend just now. He wanted this pathetic state of weakness to end.

The youth laughed as he reclaimed his place at Smith's side. "You're cranky," he observed in an offhand way. "They're always cranky when they first wake up. I can imagine why, though I wouldn't know personally." He held up his arm and Smith saw it naked of ports.

The former agent grunted, grateful his eyes were beginning to show a slight improvement. "I would be glad to remedy that for you." He grunted dryly, watching a smile grace the boy's features. The medic spoke with a soft British accent, seemed generally intelligent and was difficult to ruffle. Steel only grinned, then there was a distinct pinching sensation on his thigh that caused Smith to glare.

The boy help up a long, thin needle attached to a wire. "You have quite a few of these that need to come out, Mimic. It won't be the most pleasant thing in the world, but at least it will be taking place just there. In the world, the _real_ world." He pulled out another, looking to his patient's face when he groaned. "Do you remember what Psyche told you?"

"I remember," Smith answered testily, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. He had known there would be inconvenience upon awakening, any knowledge of medicine would conclude the body making a rough transition between zero functionality to use, but he had not expected such vivid sensations and emotions. It was bothersome, how out of control his anger seemed. He began to try and bring it down by force of will. "Where is she?"

Steel began to remove the needles a couple at a time. "Sleeping. Not for long, though. She always asks that I awaken her when the newbies get up. She'll want to talk to you if you're able."

The simple act of controlling his irritation wore Smith out. He did not enjoy this reality and could not imagine why humans would want to inflict this upon their fellow man. Too tired to keep everything in check, he gave in to his impulses and closed his eyes. "I would like to talk to her as well."

"Yes, I imagine you would." Smith reopened his eyes to view the human again. Nodding, Steel retreated to a panel at the side of the room, hit a button and waited.

Long moments passed before a sleepy feminine voice replied, "Is he awake?"

"Yeah," Steel answered softly, watching the former agent from across the way. "He wants to talk to you, of course."

She said only one more thing before the comm. went dead. "I'm on my way."

Again Smith closed his eyes. He did not desire further communication with his young caregiver just now, so he opted—somewhat bitterly—to conserve his pale strength for the captain of this vessel. He did not even realize he had fallen asleep until voices stirred him back into unfortunate awareness. Smith slowly accepted the onslaught of feeling, remaining still as he allowed their words to filter into his consciousness. It was Psyche, speaking in a hushed voice with Steel. "It seems we have so little time. Do you think I did the right thing?"

"Does it matter what I think?" the soft-spoken medic replied. That obviously did not sit well with his captain, for his next words were, "I'm sorry. I know I've never experienced this, so I do not know, but they suggest age limits for a reason."

"I have my own reasons for bringing him here," Psyche replied firmly. There was a moment of silence between them that Smith did not interrupt. Often learning did not come from asking, but from observing.

The next bit of information he took in was interesting. "You never did say what happened at the conclave. What did the other captains have to say?"

Psyche exhaled. Smith heard one of them move a few steps as if pacing. "We're to follow orders and return to Zion, but Morpheus asked someone to remain behind in case the Oracle tried to make contact."

"Of course," Steel said derisively. "Did he ask you?"

"No, no. Ballard offered." She laughed lightly, sounding closer. "Niobe had something rather disturbing to say, though. There's going to be an attack very soon. A major attack, Steel. Morpheus thinks the end is near."

Grunting, Steel breathed, "Maybe it is. That doesn't make Neo a god. What do you think would happen if we came to the council, proclaiming Mimic was the One?" Inwardly, Smith smiled at the idea. Of course it was merely a jest, but it was an interesting, entertaining notion. It occurred to him then that he had not fully tested Matthew Pryce's abilities in the Matrix, having assumed he was no different than any other human.

"He can do some amazing things," Psyche mused, winning a disgusted groan from her companion. "He knew agents were there." What was it, Smith wondered, that ultimately made Neo so special? He certainly did not believe it was something so mystical as divinity.

"So I have heard," the male commented dryly, adding, "Let him fly around the real world, though. Then I'll consider what his captain claims." Footsteps trailed to where Smith lay and he got the impression of someone standing above him. A hand rested against his shoulder, shaking gently. "Mimic, wake up. We gave you another hour."

It was an effort. Slowly bringing his eyelids separate, Agent Smith peered into two faces above him. Captain Psyche was not nearly as impressive in appearance as she was in the Matrix. She wore no leather, no sunglasses. Her hair that had been stylishly kept was held back in a ponytail. Her lips were not painted red and her eyes appeared shadowed and tired. Yet she smiled as if it did not matter. "Hello, Mimic. How do you feel?"

Agent Smith gave her an honest look, flashing contempt within his gray eyes. "Like I have been dragged through a long, wet tube to my death, too weak to fight back or save myself. And you?"

She laughed at this irritability as if it was some endearing quality and he frowned darkly at the inanity of humans. Her hand rested against his forehead and he could do nothing to remove it. "I know. You must be wondering where you are, what I've done to you. I can answer your questions, but you may not truly understand until I show you. Unfortunately I don't have time to show you everything. But I can try. What would you like to know?"

His first question was of a selfish nature, rather than designed to continue his masquerade as an ignorant. "When will I be able to move?"

Rolling his dark eyes, the medic intoned smartly, "2.25 hours," winning a small slap from is captain.

"Shut up, Steel," she commanded, pushing him away. "You'll get used to him. He's annoying." The look she shot over the bed as Steel checked through his scans suggested their banter was not vicious, but rather more of a type of foreplay, a thing Smith considered pointless and distasteful. "I don't know, Mimic. That all depends on you, I imagine. How quickly you heal."

"You should be okay by morning," Steel added a little more conclusively, turning around. "Enjoy the rest while you have it, because I have a feeling when you show the least little bit of strength dear Psyche here will have you working like an animal until we get to Zion."

Attempting to sit and with almost immediate regret, Smith let go and accepted temporary defeat. "Zion?" he pressed impatiently.

Psyche and Steel exchanged glances, then she gave his shoulder a pet. "Maybe this should wait."

The former agent drew his strength from his desire to have this over with, gripping her wrist before she could step away. She looked down and he saw a flicker of surprise, which awakened in him the old stirrings of the hunt and kill. He tightened his grasp as it mixed with human excitability, then remembered himself when she met his intense gaze with wide eyes. Letting go, unsatisfied and tired, Smith reigned in his desires in favor of the mission. Within he knew he should not be having such trouble, but he could not examine himself now. He had to go on. "Please tell me," he implored, averting his gaze. He searched himself for some pitiable human phrases that would make her more apt to speak. "I have nothing, do I? No home? No life?"

The captain bit her bottom lip and relented with a soft expression, laying her hand on his shoulder again. "You have a home. You have a life. It's just a little different. That's all." Her dark eyes seemed to drink him in with that same exploratory interest she had back in the car. "What you choose to do with what I have given you is up to you. Try to let go of who you were before. Get some sleep."

She stepped away from him then and he chose to chance another question out of morbid interest. "Who is Neo?"

Psyche stopped and turned around with a mild look. Instead of her, it was Steel that spoke, muttering something about a 'nut job'. She rolled her eyes patiently, then offered Smith a smile. "Don't worry about it now. In the morning I'll come back and we'll talk."

~~~~~~~

**Author**: _Ruse_ – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com  
**Disclaimer**: No infringement intended.  
**Feedback**: _Yes_! By all means, my precioussss, lemme know how I'm doing!  
**Archive**: Sure, just please let me know if you will, so I can stop by and see your site.  
**lotrmatrix.hyperboards.com** – **LOTR/Matrix** forum for discussion, fiction and RPG. Main characters still available, such as Neo, Trinity, Architect, Smith…

**To Reviewers:**

**Saffronire** – Thank you for your compliments! I'm glad you liked it so much…I'm only sorry it took so long for me to write this chapter. :-x But I'm way into Matrix again, so I'm ready to keep going! Ah, Matrix dreams…now that would be nice. ;)

**Stormhawk** – Thanks! Sorry I couldn't give this chapter as fast as the others. Doh! Hope all is well with you. :) Glad you're enjoying.

**CanSpy** – I thought it logical, the Matrix-Within-Matrix theory…in Morph's words I'll say, "That sounds like the thinking of a machine to me." But I was wrong…doh! Ah well…I'll stick with this story cause I enjoy it so. :) Thanks! Mimic meeting Neo shouldn't be too off the road now. I have some inspiration that'll hopefully take me to posting faster. :O

**Lorraine T** – Thanks! Hehehe..yes, good old Elrond violence is nice. ;) I'm very pleased you liked so well. Thanks!

**Selina** – Thank you…yes, Persephone is a little meddlesome, eh? ;)

**Alocin** – Thank you…your compliment makes me blush. I'm only happy to please. :) Thanks muchly!

**Sarah** – Lol…suspect me of being an agent? ;) Muahahaha. My aunt's kids called me one and they've only played Matrix, not seen it. ;) Prolly cause if they're rotten I get on their cases. Lol…God forbid the W's sue me…I could only hope they'd be happy with my work enough to at least say, "Have fun, you freak." ;) Your high compliments are a bright spot in my writing. :D

**Wh1te Rabb1t 01** – Thanks! I'm glad you liked my ideas. It means a bunch to hear people's thoughts on my work. :D Thank you!


	8. Prey at the Temple

**Mimic  
**Prey at the Temple

Brown and Jones have an interesting, albeit strange, proposal for the exiled Agent Smith. But what of the cost of entering the real world to assassinate Neo?

~~~~~~~

There were five crewmembers of the _Damascus_. He reasoned this was no terrible number should it come to killing them. Two of them were mere children, just raised to the status of adult by a matter of months. The younger rebels in the Matrix were always the most vulnerable to the dominant force of the agents. They fought with athletic flair, made their moves dramatic and visually appealing. Their minds were on the thrill of the chase, not the inevitable death that would claim them. That was, in fact, the very essence of why they ultimately failed—the faulty belief that death could _not_ claim them. It would not be expected; he could catch one or both of them alone and end the so-called promise of their future easily before moving on to the next target.

_If_ it came to killing them.

It was that 'if' that vexed Smith. There was no need as of yet and for all appearances there did not seem as though there would be any time soon. He did not like this vessel, this scow hauling these frail little lumps of decay that called themselves an intelligence. He did not like their smiling faces, their enjoyment of this lower existence; it was unthinkably pitiful and appalling. When the boy had brought him dinner he had wanted then to hurl it back into his face. He wanted them to know who he was, to attack him and cause him to need to kill them.

The quiet was not comforting. As an agent he was part of a harmony. He could hear the Matrix, feel it and taste it. He had said as much to Morpheus. Even cut off as an exile he could still sense the throb of the Matrix. Now it was a dim memory. He was now completely cut off, trapped within this cage of bone and muscle. The hours passed and each one pounded in the perfect chronometer programmed within his most basic subroutines.

The integration between software and flesh was becoming a blur. These humans were grown and at birth implanted with hardware that would serve the connection between mind and Matrix, initiate the stimulus required to build a satisfactory simulation life and also record their lives for statistical study. As his core program encountered these memories they assimilated them and made them a part of his own network of information. His emotions were affecting him more, becoming too hard for his programming to contain. It was becoming so he did not know if given the chance he could separate machine from man. He wanted to kill them so he could stop feeling for a little while. Being alone here in his small personal bedroom was not enough.

There was a bang at the door. Smith, sitting on his bed, his body still aching, looked up from the bed and hissed, "Who is it?"

Predictably, the door opened. Humans were so assuming, entering as they pleased without regard to whether or not there had been an actual invitation. Captain Psyche entered quietly, closing the door behind her, an act that tempted him sorely. She moved to the single chair there near his bed, sank down and looked at his end table. "You haven't touched it." The white mixture was now cold.

His response came immediately, not hiding his distaste. "It did not look appetizing."

Psyche flinched at his hard tone, but didn't appear as though it rattled her too deeply. Tucking her dark hair behind her ears, she nodded slowly. "It really doesn't. Zion will have something better." Her gaze did not leave his as she studied him. "I would tell you not to wait, but you're going to do what you're going to do."

Smith grunted, resting back against the bulkhead. She seemed steeled against his disposition, expecting a fight, by the look of her. He was in no mood to wait for it. "If you have something to say then I suggest you say it."

"I know you're angry, Mimic," she stated, settling back into her chair. Folding her hands on her lap, she continued as if humoring a child. "You' haven't said it, but it's evident that you don't want much to do with us. I cannot change what I've done, but I honestly don't think you would want me to if I could. Am I right?" He declined to answer and she smiled. "We'll be in Zion soon. I would have liked to have trained you, but I suppose there will be time for that. What's important is that you understand where you came from."

"You explained it well enough," he countered, giving her a firm look. She had mentioned 'showing' him what the Matrix was via jacking into a simulation, which she had shown him the hardware for, but he was of course not interested in the obvious. He inclined his head, noticing the way she seemed to try and pick him apart with her eyes at that statement. Sometimes her expressions were nothing more than a surface curiousity, but others made him wonder exactly how much she supposed. He guessed he should be more curious, but in refusing could appear to already possess the knowledge he required, so he added a little something to throw her off any speculation. "I'd really rather you not put one of those…_things _in my head."

The Captain of the _Damascus_ smiled wryly at that. "I went to a lot of trouble to get you out."

Smith hardened his gaze. "You have my sympathy.

Shaking her head, Psyche did not let his attitude bother her. She took a deep breath, watching him again in that way he found uncomfortable. "How will you train? There's a need for military personnel with access ports, Mimic. Here or in Zion, you will be expected to earn your keep."

An arrogant, bitter frown painted his features quick enough at that. "You would kidnap me from happiness and then force me to awaken others into this primitive hell you've dragged me into?"

That troublesome smiled played at her lips. "It's not that bad."

He looked down at the cold gray floor, thinking her statement a lie. How any human could find this existence preferable to the Matrix was beyond him. They lived their lives cramped aboard these ships, lost within colorless mornings and nights that never changed, hiding from the inevitable death stalking their every breath. He had no inkling as to what Zion would look like, but he knew it would be nothing compared to the life the Matrix so graciously offered them. It was pitiful and wretched, the squalor they fought so very hard to obtain. "Maybe I would rather stop you," he tested her, knowing he was dancing the lines of saying too much. "Maybe I don't want anyone to go through what I've been through, to lose what I've lost."

When he failed to reply, she touched his hand and he looked up sharply. If it mattered she did not let it show. "You may wish to reconsider, Mimic. There are forces within the Matrix that would kill you just as soon as allow you to help them. But you can make that choice once you've seen the Oracle."

Smith raised his brow in alarm. He had not counted on that, it had not even been figured into his compilation of possible outcomes should he do as he had done and enter the real world. Whether or not anyone here in Zion recognized him behind this mask of flesh was irrelevant in comparison to that. For whatever reason this program, the Oracle, had knowledge of things he felt she shouldn't. He held little doubt that she at least knew what he looked like as an Agent. Despite logic he knew there was a real danger that she could at least guess as to his true identity. If he met her before completing his task it would be over before it had even begun.

"Is this Oracle in Zion?" he asked carefully, not wishing to rouse her suspicion by carelessly displaying his recognition of the Oracle. "When will you be taking me to see her?"

Psyche shook her head, parting her lips to speak, but was interrupted by a beep. Rising from her chair, she stepped over to the comm. and said, "Go ahead."

The voice on the other end belonged to the red-haired individual Smith had encountered in the car. "We're entering the dock, Captain. Everyone's gathering in the temple, Ma'am."

She pursed her lips and said, "Thank you," before releasing the button. Her dark eyes swept him over in consideration—_grave_ consideration. "Don't worry about the Oracle, Mimic. There's plenty to do before that." All of her mystery and wryness quickly disappeared behind an expression of discomfort now and the ex-agent wondered what it was that was troubling her. Psyche bit her lip and hesitated before adding, "Perhaps you would rather wait here until I've spoken…"

Smith dropped his palms to the bed and lifted himself up, then approached her where she stood at the door. She seemed afraid, almost, and he enjoyed that. "No, I would rather see this Zion I have heard so much about. Show me what makes you fight, _Psyche_. Take me to this temple of yours and show me how your people live."

Psyche looked up into his eyes, her own hardening. "If you cause trouble…"

He smiled at that and pushed the door open, causing her to stumble back. "No, no. Causing trouble would hardly help my situation now, would it?"

Narrowing her eyes at him, the female captain whirled around and stalked through the barren hallways in silence. Whatever she had on her mind he could not guess, but if he did not know any better he would swear she could conceive of just how dangerous having him here really was. Yet if that were the case, why would she even bring him here at all? He would have to keep his eyes on her until he met up with Anderson, which could possibly be this very night, if their little savior bothered to be there at the temple. Smith curled his lip at the idea that these humans may actually be using this temple to pray to Anderson.

At the hatch Steel waited with two bags, his eyes traveling behind his captain as he handed one over. "We'll have to get our newbie here a room," he said with a smile. He looked back to Psyche, his brow narrowing at her demeanor. He said nothing of it, however, reaching for her bag. "Want me to take this to our room while you handle it?"

She nodded, sparing Smith a glance. "I'm taking Mimic to the temple. There won't be anyone available to assign him quarters until afterwards anyway."

"Right." Steel gave the exile a half-grin. "Have fun and try not wear yourself out. You're still a bit weaker than I'd like."

Smith tilted his chin upwards, knowing well he'd be weak until this assignment was complete. Until he could shed this human flesh and accept the oblivion of deletion. "I'll be careful."

They disembarked the _Damascus_ and stepped out onto the dock. Like the interior of the ship this was equally as colorless, drab and dark. He saw other ships there and he wondered which would belong to Morpheus. By visual inspection there was, of course, no way to tell and there was no direct way he could ask without looking suspicious. Perhaps an indirect method would work. "These ships, are all the crews responsible for the awakening of people like me?" Psyche looked at him and nodded without saying anything. He cocked his eyebrow at her. "After I have been properly trained, will I have to return to the _Damascus_, or will I have a choice?"

"You can go where you want, Mimic, provided the captain accepts your application." She brushed her hair back and ran her eyes across his form as they approached a central structure. "If I didn't know you were angry beyond saving, I'd think you were feeling more agreeable."

He grunted, searching the ships again. "Just curious. What are the other captains like?"

She stopped him at the opening of a lift, her eyes mild. "Is it important just now?" At his frown she entered and motioned him to follow. "The other captains vary just as any other person to another. Personally, I think I'd like to give you to Roland." Her smile resurfaced. He chose to ignore that.

As the lift descended Smith's anticipation quietly brewed. He could hear soon a low rumble coming from below, a chorus of chattering voices that echoed through the halls and up the shaft to his ears. It grew only louder as they exited the lift. The temple was not a far walk and once at the cavern threshold, Psyche directed him to take off his shoes. From within one voice rang out above the general talk, a voice Smith did not recognize, the voice of a man at least in his middle years. He spoke of the valiance of Zion's protectors, of thanks and honor.

When they entered he saw from a great distance the face of the speaker. Smith and Psyche stopped there near the doorway for a moment to listen. The ex-agent scanned the crowd for anyone familiar. He could almost feel Anderson here, such was his hunger to see this mission to its inevitable end. A ruckus from behind him distracted the exile and a sudden bump threw him off balance. He turned into a kid with wide brown eyes, who said, "Sorry," and scurried away.

Psyche smiled at his impatient expression, then motioned him to follow her closer to the front. It was then the silver-headed man at the head of the cavern said a name. That name halted Smith for a moment and drew his eyes directly ahead. "I give you Morpheus." There approaching the front was a form all too familiar. It filled him with a dark relief that yes, his enemy was here.

He lagged behind, listening as the hated mortal called for attention, then began speaking to his people. Smith sneered in contempt, but was careful not to be too free with his expressions. Gone was the leather, the sunglasses and the guns. Here Morpheus did not have the bendable rules that the Matrix gave him. A chase would depend on his stamina. He would so easily fall.

A hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged him along. He followed without a glance, without a word, his eyes glued ahead. If he could, he would make a point of killing the captain that had escaped his grasp as well as his adored messiah.

When Morpheus spoke Smith noticed the people paying rapt attention as the dire truth of their situation was revealed. So, diggers approached Zion, did they? Sentinels numbering in the thousands? He could barely contain his delight. But, as always, these humans were not without their cultivated, faulty sense of hope. Morpheus seemed to know what to say to encourage his fellow man onto foolishness, for written on their faces was the evidence of adrenaline rushing and hope's fire flushing their cheeks. Smith exhaled in disgust.

Psyche drew him along the side of the crowd, near the wall, and stopped where they had a good view. Footsteps away Morpheus was, mere footsteps. Smith faded back into the onlookers, but kept a vigilant watch upon center stage as the speech droned on and rose in volume. He would now distract them with the festivities to come, forcing them to forget the danger above. 

The agent was not disappointed when he heard Morpheus shout, "Tonight let us shake this cave! Tonight let us tremble these halls of earth, steel, and stone!" He smirked, crossing his arms. "Let us be heard from red core to black sky. Tonight, let us make them remember. This is Zion! And we are not afraid!" The crowd cheered at his misleading statements, unafraid despite the fact that they should be.

Breaking his gaze, meeting that of Psyche, Smith mused, "Do all your leaders speak such convoluted garbage?"

She gave him a longsuffering sigh, but the reply came from behind. "No, just Morpheus." Steel rejoined them with a grin, clapping Smith on the shoulder, but addressing his captain. "See, Mimic's got him pegged. I knew I'd like him."

Psyche shook her head sternly. "He does what he believes is right, Steel. He's a good man."

Steel rolled his eyes. Uninterested in their banter, Smith turned his own towards searching for Neo. Wherever his captain was, he could not be far behind. The exile looked across the faces on the stage, abandoning the voices of his companions until he spotted his prey. He would know that form anywhere. Anderson's every stat was recorded within Smith's memory, as well as assorted stances and variations on how he would appear under the influence of several conditions, such as emotional states and wounded. His fists curled of their own volition and he took a step.

"Mimic," a voice called and he stopped moving, his irritation raising his host's blood pressure. He turned and saw another set of eyes watching him in interest. Psyche motioned to the seasoned gentleman with a note of respect in her dark eyes. "I would like for you to meet Councilor Hamann. Councilor, our newest citizen of Zion, Mimic."

A glance awarded Smith with the vision of Anderson leaving with the woman he loved. He was tempted to bolt towards them, to attack Neo here and now, but his chances of success were uncomfortably slim. So he turned with deliberate calm and regarded Hamann with a forced smile. "Councilor. That was an inspired prayer."

He looked around one last time. What followed the grand speech was, in his superior opinion, unspeakable, barbaric idiocy. 

~~~~~~~

**Author**: _Ruse_ – jedinineofnine@hotmail.com  
**Disclaimer**: No infringement intended.  
**Feedback**: _Yes_! By all means, my precioussss, lemme know how I'm doing!  
**Archive**: Sure, just please let me know if you will, so I can stop by and see your site.  
**lotrmatrix.hyperboards.com** – **LOTR/Matrix** forum for discussion, fiction and RPG.

**To Reviewers:**

**MazokuGrlSizer** – Thanks for reviewing both this and Other Side! :D I'm pleased you liked them both. :) Yes…Hugonut is an appropriate term. ;) He's definitely got my attention. *drool* Thank you for your high compliments! Means a bunch. :) I hope to see you writing sometime…I'd love to read it! :) Good luck when you do!

**Saffronire** - *blush* Wow! Thank you! I'm not sure I can believe all that about my story. ;) :) But it's so nice to hear. I just try to keep it all plausible, is all. Sorry for making you all wait so long…I can only hope I can decide what to do next so I don't keep you waiting again! :-X ;) Thank you very much!

**Kedi** – Sorry, no…I'm not giving this baby up. :) I'm glad to still have an audience. Thank you for the review…I'll try to keep it at least at this pace, anyway. ;) :D

**Selina** – Thank you very much. Meesa glad yousa pleased. ;) Gotta be careful when reading that Jar Jar speak, or I'll be doing it all night. It's darn catchy. ;D Thankie!!

**Sarah** – Hehe! Thank you! Yes, I thought a cranky Smith would be cute. ;) At least he hasn't cut himself yet, anyway. Lol. Yeha..no perfect Mary Sues in my stories. I can only hope I continue to please! :D Thanks!


	9. Unfamiliar Likeness

**Mimic  
**Unfamiliar Likeness

Brown and Jones have an interesting, albeit strange, proposal for the exiled Agent Smith. But what of the cost of entering the real world to assassinate Neo?

=======

Zion was remarkably unimpressive. He had no doubt the humans were proud of it. Humans were easy to please, wasting what little mental capacity they had on hundreds of equally meaningless actions. He had seen the great temple orgy, witnessed firsthand the diminished way of life they lead and marveled at the choice they made to maintain it all in the name of something so paltry as freedom. In the Matrix even the most unproductive member of their slovenly race had a purpose to their existence and that ultimately made each and every person equally valuable to the system, for all survived to share their collective power with the machines. They could live happily there, feeding their primitive need for established ideals, could thrive and not only support their own way of life, but the way of life for their superiors as well.

It was by now a few hours from morning and weariness began to close in upon Agent Smith just as it did every dreaded night. The labyrinthine hallways were dimmed down for the night, not more than a small handful of Zion's denizens strayed out so late except on business. He was careful to avoid the eyes of those that passed him for the chance that someone could recognize the likeness Pryce had to his former visage. So far he had had but one close encounter with someone he had chased when he had still been a part of the system, but his former colleagues had been right in that case. Taken out of context he was not recognizable to those without an intimate experience with him in particular. The one called Ghost had looked into his face point blank and saw only a fellow "red pill" as the moniker went. True, their encounters had been brief, but the moment had been enough to incite a certain addition of caution to his hunt.

He had managed to find the quarters of Morpheus by stealth, had wandered past the doorway with the temptation to knock, but did not for the sake of his ultimate goal. But he kept the location locked within his memory, ready to be used if the opportunity presented itself. The chances were slim, but existent, that he could very well end the life of his target and have leisure to return and seek revenge against the man who had brought Anderson into this cycle of madness. He did not like it when rebels managed to evade his cause and the escape of Morpheus still galled him when he considered what had been lost and created in its place-the perpetuation of a hated cycle.

Smith knit his brows, bringing his hands to rest on the soft fabric of his gray, faded sweater. It kept him warm in this place that was chilled. He frowned at it, but accepted its purpose. He had become exceptional at accepting the unacceptable these past few days. These transitions from superiority were becoming less taxing, which aided his cause, admittedly, but yet he found himself not wishing to be comfortable in Matthew Pryce's skin. Stopping to look over the railing as he crossed from one side of the circle of quarters to the next, he exhaled and looked down at the steel bar, tracing his fingers over an etching someone had made. The letters were crude, drawing out the single line: JNXI11. Apathy restricted his curiosity in this instance and without considering it further, he closed his eyes.

His solace did not last beyond the breadth of a handful of moments. "Didn't I see you walking here last night after the temple?"

Smith set his jaw and turned, but did not have the energy or the will to maintain an aloof presence. "That would be difficult for me to answer without having access to your visual senses." It did not come out as threatening as it may have had this man intruded just hours before now.

Councilor Hamann took no offense at the statement, coming to stand at his right without invitation. "You might have something there," he commented dryly as he peered out across the empty distance. This one seemed a little less cautious than the others, a perception colored by the fact, Smith surmised, he did not venture into the Matrix anymore if indeed he ever had. It seemed strange to Smith that anyone should stand so at ease in his presence. "This is a difficult transition for you, I understand."

Resting his now tightened fists visibly on the rail barring him back from the depths, Smith cut the councilor off before he could say more. "If this is going to be a speech on what I lost being meaningless and fictitious, please spare me."

"No," Hamann countered with an unchanged level of tone. "Not one of those. Some things are real in the Matrix. I loved my parents. That was real even if our reality wasn't. Maybe you loved someone, too. I thought perhaps I would instead ask you what you planned on doing now that your past doesn't matter anymore. Walk with me?"

Smith grunted coldly, irritated by Hamann's calm, but nevertheless finding himself following after him without having put will to action. He matched the idle stride and looked at the colorless path ahead of them. "I plan on going on, of course. Isn't that what you and your people do when you escape the terror of the Matrix? You accept and move on?"

"Mm, yes, but there are different ways of going on," the human said surreptitiously, stepping aside to allow him into a lift. Smith swept past him and waited as Hamann programmed his desired destination into the panel. He offered nothing and for all the world the councilor did not appear to be waiting for a reply. His blue eyes fixed on the Agent, studying him and Smith watched, wondering what his companion would think he saw mirrored back at him. "There have been a few others like you."

"Like me?" the exile repeated with a measure of incredulity. "Who?"

Hamann cocked his head and exhaled, preparing his words carefully as any good politician would. "There was a girl some years ago. When she awakened to reality she was angry at everyone, resented what we had done to her. She walked alone much like you do, in fact."

Openly annoyed, Smith turned his hard stare upon the metallic surface of the door before them. "Let me guess. She got over it and became a valued member of your little society."

The answer was not entirely unanticipated, if strange in relation to what Hamann was attempting to get across to him. The elder shook his head. "No. She worked hard, studied and we let her on board one of our ships. She got killed within a year. Stopped wanting to be here and I suppose saw to it that she didn't have to be anymore."

He did not feel compassion over so needless an event as that. She should have been left where she could be happy. Only fools would trade what could be for what was. "Now you believe I will follow the same course?" he surmised, raising an eyebrow. Hamann shook his head, but said nothing and for a few blessed minutes it remained that way. No, it did not always end in suicide, Smith recalled. Sometimes it ended in treachery as was the case with Reagan, Cypher as these people knew him. Was it that Hamann was driving at? As the lift door opened he allowed the elder through the door first this time, mocking his polite action above. "What is your point, Councilor?"

Hamann smiled, turning back to look at him as he exited the lift. "I'm not sure I have a point, really," he evaded cleanly as Smith met his pace again.

The Agent allowed a smile to cross his features as they moved to the side to allow a small group of people pass them on the right. They stopped by the side of the rail and Smith ran his eyes down the human and back up again. "You could have fooled me," he challenged and Hamann reflected his expression.

Talking ahead interrupted their little dialogue and both looked up, watching a tall dark man carrying a bag say to those trailing him, "We'll need to see Neo in the morning. Bane, Malachi, I think you need to tell him about that Agent. Councilor," he greeted as an afterthought.

Behind him the others generally kept to themselves, offering a polite nod to Hamann, until they passed the bystanders waiting for them. All but one. Eyes hit Agent Smith, measuring, bright and dangerous. They were blue, crystalline, belonging to a man with dark hair and a cold expression. There was little doubt. Smith had been recognized for who he was, and yet he did not have the same advantage. The face was unfamiliar, even when Smith applied various changes to his features. "Sure thing, Captain," he said in a strangely driven voice that suggested purpose as he stared Smith down.

The dark man rolled his eyes in irritation, but said nothing as he stalked on ahead. Smith was not sure what to make of the encounter, making calculations on all possibilities. That he had missed something or forgotten a face was unthinkable, but that this person would stare for another reason other than recognition seemed unlikely, even given the oddities of human behavior. Yet, inevitably, they had a way of beating the odds, of doing something unpredictable at the very height of when you believe they are most transparent.

He could not allow his musings to show for long without Hamann's interest delving too far into his thoughts. As it was the councilor had a puzzled look, which Smith copied immediately. They began walking again, neither speaking until they came to the end of the walk. It was there Hamann decided to make his well-cultivated point. "Mimic, we can't offer you what the Matrix offers. That world is dead. But that doesn't mean you can't find your place here. We need you and we need you healthy, strong and capable. I won't insist you consider any given option, but I urge you to reconsider your opinion. We're not your enemy."

Smith inhaled and nodded insincerely, stopping as the councilor took a step away towards wherever he had on his mind. "I may do that, Councilor. Regardless, however, I think you'll find my choices will not emulate your little parable. Goodnight."

Hamann inclined his head, adding his own parting words and then leaving him alone. In disgust of the past few moments Smith turned back towards the lift, his gray eyes traveling higher as if he could spot the one that had captured his interest. Perhaps he could not afford to wait any longer, Neo would have more than Trinity as backup in the morning if he waited. This other would have to be taken care of before then and if it came to killing him then his margin for error would grow very thin.

His footsteps echoed along the walk in a singular announcement he would quell once he reached the higher level. Reaching into the pocket of his pants, he felt along the hilt of a knife he had taken to carrying since his arrival. His hunt now resumed and his pace quickened. He would begin at the top level of crew quarters and work his way systematically downwards until he found his target. In all reality if this Bane had entered his quarters then the search would be fruitless without disturbing the whole of Zion's fleet, but Smith did not believe it would come to a loss. There had been a very real invitation in those piercing eyes. Somewhere on some level Bane waited for him, perhaps even aboard the lift itself.

As it was when he entered the lift he saw the panel display the number of a certain level as if it had been rigged. He studied it for a moment, recounting all the ways one could accomplish such a task, then decided the invitation was in fact real. He pressed the button and felt his pulse quicken as the lift jarred slightly, then began the ascent. The more he considered it, the less he thought this encounter would turn violent. Bane wanted something or else he would have simply reported him to Hamann or some other official. If he wanted something then this meant he was pliable, usable. He would likely make some sort of demand to be reinserted into the Matrix just like Reagan had in exchange for silence. Perhaps.

The lift halted and the door slid open, revealing the expected walk and a shade at the end of it. Smith curled his hand around the knife and made his exit, seeing no reason for stealth now. Bane was watching him, undoubtedly. If it did come to an open brawl there would be no element of surprise. The Agent rushed on towards this meeting with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

"If I didn't know you any better I would think it strange of you to consort with our enemy so freely," Bane said cynically as he approached. His bag was on the floor, his arms crossed and eyes intent. "As it is I understand that this shell has disadvantages like emotion."

Smith wasted no time. "Who are you?"

A slow smile crossed the human's features as he cocked his head to the side. "You don't recognize me? But then, how could you?" He lifted an eyebrow, breathing out slowly as he rubbed his thumb against his palm and watched it abstractly. "Strange how even the best of plans lead to chaos."

"But you claim to recognize me," Smith pressed, ignoring this other's riddles. "Do you have a purpose for this meeting other than meaningless prattle?"

Bane grinned, sliding his eyes up to the exile's. "I find it interesting, being on the other end of that condescending tone. My purpose here is the same as yours. Finding Anderson and ending his miserable existence. I've been wondering when and if you would appear."

The face was strange, but the voice a little too familiar. Agent Smith raised an eyebrow, examining the other's mannerisms, weighing the way he spoke, the inflections he made. They were tainted, probably with the host's personality bleeding in, but the general behavior belonged to him. "How did you get here?"

"I came much the same way you did. Now there is nowhere we cannot go. Nowhere we cannot be at any given time." The way he smiled confirmed much. Taking a breath, his brows raised in thought, he looked again at his hand. "Disgusting, isn't it? Pitiful. But soon it will cease to matter. Soon there will be more of us than they can handle and nothing Anderson can do to stop it."

The possibilities of that were attractive. Smith did not trouble himself with the details of it, however, concerned with the here and now. He considered several courses of action, watched as Bane did the same, then said, "Anderson need not be troubled to try. We can end it from this side together."

Bane inclined his head thoughtfully. "What do you propose?"

"I am the more obvious of the two of us. I will handle Anderson. You, however, have an opportunity to do more since you will not be discovered as easily." The other seemed to concur with a single nod. Smith continued. "Are you aware of the force heading towards Zion even as we speak?"

"I am."

"Good. Whatever they are planning in defense you can find out and take care of." He threw a glance upwards towards a higher bridge. "Do you know where Anderson's quarters are? I assume his messianic powers end here, leaving him vulnerable."

Bane nodded, following his glance. "Unfortunately that information I am not privy to, but if you are going to act, it will have to be sometime between now and when he leaves. Before I overtook him, my host was carrying a message from the Oracle."

"A summons?"

"Likely." Bane rubbed his hands together, a gesture Smith recognized. He was uncomfortable in his skin. He himself had done the same a few times. There were subtle differences between them, he noticed. Bane seemed more agitated, more restless. Matthew Pryce was a very calm, sedate individual, Smith recalled. Not that he allowed that to quell the need within for revenge. The other seemed only enflamed for it; it shone in his eyes.

Smith considered the situation. "If it is a summons they'll want to run to her for the answers their limited understanding fails to comprehend. They'll want to do it as soon as tomorrow."

An idea seemed to occur to Bane. The wheels were turning within, reflecting in his intense eyes. "Perhaps they can be prevented from leaving," he mused. "The goal is Anderson. All else will fall in its own time." Cocking his head, Smith waited for his counterpart to elaborate, but whatever was on his mind Bane was set to remain mysterious. "Tomorrow morning Anderson will get more than one surprise. You look tired. You should get some rest."

Reaching down for his bag, his counterpart shouldered it and stalked past him with intention and no more words. Smith did not question it, though he was curious. It would be revealed in due course and what he did not know now he would not have to pretend to be surprised by later. Folding his hands behind his back, Agent Smith abandoned his brooding walk for the night and headed towards the rooms his enemy had graciously provided for him.

=======

Author: _Ruse_ – jedinineofninehotmail.com  
Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
Feedback: _Yes_! By all means, my precioussss, lemme know how I'm doing!  
Archive: Sure, just please let me know if you will, so I can stop by and see your site.  
lotrmatrix.hyperboards.com – LOTR/Matrix forum for discussion, fiction and RPG.

To Reviewers: Can anyone find the clue as to what's going to happen next? ;) It's broad, but so were some of the clues in Matrix. :O Sorry this took so long, but I have a fairly good idea of where to go now, so it prolly won't take so long. ;)

CanSpy – Hehehe..sorry to draw out the suspense even longer, but I promise an update before 2005. ;) One where they do meet. And as far as being a perv, forget Trin, I'd be picturing him stalking outside MY quarters with ideas in his mind about sampling humanity. ;D :O That wasn't out loud, was it? Thanks!

Saffronire – Thanks! Glad you liked…yeah, very close, but not close enough. ;)

MazkoGrlSizer – Lol..yeah, it was idiocy, wasn't the orgy scene? ;) I wonder if you ever started that LOTR fic…I'll have to check. Thanks for reviewing!

Selina – I emailed you, but you didn't respond. :-X Or didn't get it? Well, if you want to chat, my email is: jedinineofninehotmail.com or you can find me under the AIM name: Valawen Imoriel. Thanks for reviewing! Hope we can chat if you still want to. :)

Constructicons – Tator Nuts?? ;) Thanks! Lol. Tater Nuts. ;D Silly!


	10. Timeframe

**Mimic**  
Timeframe

Brown and Jones have an interesting, albeit strange, proposal for the exiled Agent Smith. But what of the cost of entering the real world to assassinate Neo?

=======

The city of humans was in a turmoil that simmered beneath the surface. Things were quiet, but one could perceive tension wherever any of the military were gathered. Smith found himself within the shadows of such a place. Psyche had brought him here because, as she put it, he was her responsibility and he _would_ do his part to repay her kindness. Not entirely amused, but certainly curious, Smith had agreed to come along. That had, perhaps, been a mistake. He had not realized she would be bringing him into the lion's den. Here within this hall of meeting were assorted rebels, both those he recognized and those he did not. There were only two faces he cared to see, both of which were absent. Anderson and Bane. He stood near the back of the room, off to the side, hoping that with Steel here at his side he would more or less go undetected, for if anyone that had personally battled him back in his former days of policing the Matrix, his mission would end here and now.

Still, he was not without the sense to take calculating measures. Safe within his pocket lay the knife he planned on using against Anderson. If he arrived, and Smith did not doubt he would deny his right to interrupt whatever business was taking place this morning, and if the situation became acute, he would attempt to finish the job here and now.

These thoughts prompted him to gaze in the direction of perhaps his most dangerous adversary aside from Anderson himself. Her dark hair was tucked behind her ears, her face was pale and troubled, her arms folded together within the blue fabric of her shirt. Trinity looked very different in this way. She was no longer the harsh slip of black darting away through the shadows. She looked almost fragile, trying to hide her emotions and yet displaying them at the same time. Whatever had happened must have been quite bothersome indeed.

"You'll not get anywhere with that one," Steel suggested, following his sight.

Annoyed, Smith tore his eyes away from her and glared at the young medic. "I was not thinking of trying," he countered sharply.

The young man shook his head with a grin. "Right. At any rate, she belongs to that fake, Neo."

His attitude towards Anderson was one in which the exile could share. He softened his exterior somewhat and looked Steel in the eyes. "You don't like this 'Neo' very much, do you?"

Shrugging and looking across the room, the young man seemed to consider his words carefully. "He's all right, I guess. I haven't really talked to him much. But I _don't_ think he's some sort of savior. It's nice that he does so much for Zion and gives hope to the people, but I think he's a fool to suggest we put all our faith in him."

"Hmm," Smith hummed, watching as Captain Psyche approached with a visage much like that of Trinity. "Perhaps."

When Psyche entered into their presence she was quiet at first, looking as though she wanted to speak, but didn't know how. Putting a hand on her shoulder, Steel said in an uncommonly gentle fashion, "What is it? What is all of this about?"

The female shook her head and took a breath. "They aren't telling us much, but something's happened to Morpheus."

Smith's attention was immediately snared. He stood a little straighter, but remembered himself enough to not appear to eager to learn more. "The one that spoke at the Temple gathering? What's happened?" Whatever it was, he guessed now the reason Bane was absent.

Again she shook her head, then looked up as someone passed by. Reading out, she took a hold of the man's arm and stopped him. "Link?" The dark-skinned rebel stopped politely, but his eyes held that same lack of understanding that donned many of the faces here. "What happened to Morpheus?"

"I'm not entirely sure myself, to be honest." He inhaled deeply and looked each of them over briefly. "I was just on my way to ask Trinity. As I have it, someone attacked him last night. It must have been pretty bad, because we're grounded."

Psyche's eyes were full of sympathy as she gave Link's arm a squeeze. "I'm sorry. If there's anything we can do…"

Link nodded, accepting the offer before it was even completed. "Thanks, Psych. I'm sure he'll be all right. If you'll excuse me, though, I'd like to have a word with Trin. See if she was told anything more than me."

They exchanged the customary words of dismissal and when Psyche turned back to Smith and Steel, she had a purposeful expression. "Maybe we should go talk to her. I'm sure this is hard on her. She's been his second in command for years."

The idea was, of course, too dangerous for him. Smith stepped backwards, settling against a wall at his back. "I think I will remain here. If it is as you say, then it isn't my place…" The door in the center of the room opened and the figure that entered drew his attention. "…to be there," he completed his sentence, but watched Anderson approach Trinity and Link with anger and ignorance in his eyes.

When he could tear his eyes off the form of his enemy Smith turned to see Psyche regarding him intensely. The look she gave him was uncomfortably scrutinizing, as if she understood exactly why his attention had diverted. But her thoughts remained a mystery. Psyche said nothing of whatever it was she made of the incident, instead choosing to nod and accept his excuse. "Of course, Mimic."

Commandeering Steel towards the trio, Psyche left him with his thoughts. Smith pondered what it was that could have happened as he slipped away, further obscured by assorted rebel standing around, talking amongst themselves. He wandered to the far side and took a seat in the stands where he could view Anderson and his cohorts. The absence of Morpheus from he and Trinity was very obvious. The exile almost smiled as he considered what could have happened. Could the great captain even lay dead? Anderson looked angry enough.

Smith watched as he explained to his friends whatever it was he knew. Link soon shared the fury on his colleague's face. Trinity did not appear surprised, likely having been briefed beforehand. What was it that so troubled their hopeful expressions? He did not mind that Bane had done this, even though security would be a little harder to evade now. He was enjoying this too much to mind.

So wrapped up in that thought he was that he did not notice two blue eyes on him until a few seconds after he had been sighted. He looked up into the face of Trinity's searching expression and froze momentarily, wondering if it would dawn on her right away. His pulse quickened and his body tensed as she knit her brow. They were far apart, far enough that she might question what she was seeing. When the body of a nameless stranger came between them Smith acted quickly and got up from his spot, slipping around the stands to seek out the nearest escape route. To his great irritation he saw that the main doors were now shut with guards standing by.

"Order!" barked a voice from the head of the room. "Please, take your seats!"

Tightening his fists, Smith looked around a little desperately, seeing no choice. Rebels drifted on towards the stands. He could not stand here alone and remain inconspicuous. His jaw set, his hand tucked within the pocket where his knife was, the exile chose to face the possibilities and crept around the side of the stands. He looked over the seats and saw her right where she had been, her eyes now locked on Anderson. Perhaps she had dismissed what she had seen.

Psyche, however, had her eyes on him and was patiently waiting for him to look up at her wave. Catching the movement, Smith did and followed her direction to where her crew was seated for the meeting. It was mixed in enough to ease his discomfort, so he took his place beside the crew and looked across the gathered Council members ahead. A woman whose name he did not know stood as the room hushed. Her gray hair signified her age as well as her wise visage and her ornamentation singled her out among the elders. Her voice was not threatening, but stern enough to demand attention as she said, "You have been called here because of a very serious matter. Our security has been breached once again by a traitorous individual. Last night one of our captains was attacked." She paused as assorted chatter filled the room. One of the other councilors called for order, putting a stop to it after a moment.

The female councilor crossed her arms behind her back and gazed at the rebels in the stands. "We have a suspect in custody and you are here for the deliberations concerning his crime which will take place following this introduction. Many of you are on friendly terms with Captain Morpheus—the victim, some of you are not. We have yet to establish a motive, but I speak for Zion when I say that what happened last night will not be tolerated again. Treachery of this level will be dealt with swiftly and harshly. I now defer to Councilor Hamann for a description of the crime itself."

Smith watched as the frail woman sat down. They were very serious about whatever had been done. It was almost amusing, this show of force they were putting on, for what could they truly do to stop this from happening again? It would happen and he would be the next one on trial, he knew. In that these deliberations interested him. It was a look at what he may well endure in the near future. Not that it would matter by then. Let them end his life for ending Neo's. He did not want to remain in this shell.

Councilor Hamann did not rise, leaning in his chair and looking over a terminal before him. He shook his head when he finally looked up. "Last night a little after 2am Captain Morpheus was attacked as many of you know. His attacker, a crewmember of the Caduceus named Bane, entered his quarters in what appeared to be willing terms—which means we believe Captain Morpheus allowed him to enter of his own free will, without force or coercion—and 32 minutes after entry exited alone. Security cameras have this on tape, so there is no dispute that he was there at this time. This morning Morpheus was discovered by his second officer Trinity in a state of near death." Another round of chatter overtook the room, quickly dispersed by a word from a dark-skinned man wearing gold.

Hamann exhaled, closing his terminal. "Medics confirm that his condition suggests he had been attacked nearly six hours previous to his examination. The case is, for the most part, concise. Bane freely confesses to using a metal pipe he tore from the wall in the captain's quarters to overcome him. There are, however, certain circumstances that make this case a little unclear. After an examination it was shown that Bane suffered severe neural trauma, which may or may not have resulted in impaired judgment on his part. These tests are preliminary and non-conclusive as of yet, but even now we are working to understand the nature of this trauma. I hope to have an answer to that question for you sometime during these deliberations." The councilor folded his hands on the table before him and took a deep breath as if this troubled and wearied him. Indeed no one in this room appeared at ease with all that had been said. Gravely, Hamann concluded his oration. "I now turn the floor over to your questions."

"Absolutely unbelievable," Psyche murmured, then pointed when the dark man that had been with Bane last night stood up. "Captain Ballard."

Smith darted a glance at Trinity to make certain he had not been spotted again, then satisfied with her attention on Ballard, gazed also at the captain as he spoke. "I haven't gotten to speak with Bane yet, but I want to know exactly what he's been saying to you. No disrespect, Councilors, but nothing he's done gave me any indication he had any opinion of Morpheus, let alone something like this."

Hamann nodded in concession. "As his captain you're entitled to know what his testimony is, but as of this morning he is under the jurisdiction of the council. I must ask that you wait until the designated time when we bring him to give his testimony before the council and before his peers." Ballard did not appear happy with that, but nevertheless took his seat again, speaking to Malachi at his side.

Not surprisingly it was Anderson that spoke next, standing with a respectful, if intent, expression. "Councilors, I understand the gravity of this situation and believe me, no one is more bothered by this than Trinity and I."

"The Council recognizes your loyalty to Captain Morpheus," Hamann agreed with a curious look.

Anderson nodded seriously and used that to add to his point, "And it's because of that I request to be allowed back into the Matrix as soon as possible."

A few whispers made a way around the room. Councilor Hamann appeared thoughtful, if cautious. "This is a strenuous time to make such a request."

"And with all due respect," the stern man in gold said from the side of the room, "with the coming battle we cannot afford to lose any of our force for such a trivial reason."

"The Nebuchadnezzar has been grounded in light of your captain's attack," the gray-haired councilor reminded Anderson. "I understand that Morpheus would want you to answer the Oracle's summons, but I cannot justify going against our security policy, neither can I order another captain to take on a mission of this nature during so tentative a time."

Smith watched as Anderson looked down, seeking some sort of phrase or action or offer that would change the outcome of his appeal. There seemed to be nothing and inwardly the exile felt a certain amount of satisfaction. He was trapped here, unsuspecting of the trap that lay in wait for him. Or so Smith had thought. From across the room an individual stood and addressed the council. "If the Council permits, I volunteer the Vigilant for this mission."

The ex-Agent frowned when Hamann's expression took on a positive light. He shared a questioning glance with his fellow council members, then, giving Anderson a mild look, he said, "It appears you have an advocate, Neo. Captain Soren, if you wish to undertake this, you have the Council's permission to undertake this mission."

The man in gold became quite agitated with his, mirroring the emotions Smith felt. "What?! Councilor, if I may…"

Hamann raised a hand and the speaker withdrew his outburst coolly. "I stand behind the choice that was made, Commander Lock. Captain Soren, you are under no orders or obligations. If at any time you see fit to turn back, that is, of course, your right to do so. Given the importance of your mission I give you permission to leave these deliberations for preparation on the promise that you will make all haste to return to Zion once your visit with the Oracle is complete. Also, Neo, before you depart I ask that you report to my office. I would like a word with you."

Anderson replied with a grateful nod and urgency about his stance. "Thank you, Councilor."

Watching him leave gave Smith a bitter feeling in the pit of his stomach. He glared at the form that exited the chamber with all haste, Trinity at his side and his dupes not far behind. His chances at getting to Anderson had just greatly diminished. He could try it now, but it would be his final try. If he failed they would haul him away before he could take another step. The only thing remaining after that would be to catch him before his departure. Before leaving he would have to see Hamann and in all likelihood he would not go without paying a last visit to his fallen captain. Humans were highly sentimental.

Ignoring the rest of the proceedings, he started to ponder ways to get out of remaining here. He did not care now what happened to Bane. He would live it soon enough.

=======

Author: _Ruse_  
Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
Feedback: _Yes_! By all means, my precioussss, lemme know how I'm doing!  
Archive: Sure, just please let me know if you will, so I can stop by and see your site.

To Reviewers:

Selina – Thanks for the review and the website link! I've been looking for a good Matrix website for fic, but all that I've found were like single author sites and defunct ones. Awesome that there's one abroad!

Constructions – Thanks! ;)

LiMiYa – Thankie! I figure perhaps since people are people, not programs to be completely overwritten, these Smiths prolly retain some of their hosts personalities a bit along with the memories. It would explain the cheesy lines. ;)


	11. Smith's Trap

**Mimic  
**Smith's Trap

Brown and Jones have an interesting, albeit strange, proposal for the exiled Agent Smith. But what of the cost of entering the real world to assassinate Neo?

* * *

The room felt sterile. Trinity stood with her arms crossed, soaking in the sensation of this place. This was not where Morpheus should be; yet here he slept. She felt shaken inside and that feeling was only augmented when she ran her eyes across his prone form. He was more than a captain, more than a friend. He was the father of the tentative faith that had built when Neo had come into their lives. He was a foundation to her experience in this world, the knife that had severed her connections to the former one. How could this be? This was different than those few moments where she had hovered over him, prepared to pull the plug to prevent the agents from using him to gain access to Zion. She had been prepared then, she had known exactly why she was going to have to lose him. This…this was a violation.

Her eyes moved across Morpheus, cataloguing the wires connected to his ports, sustaining his life. Any moment now, any moment he should awaken and yet he didn't. She let out a sigh frustration and paced a few steps, crossing her arms before her. She stopped at the foot of his bed and glanced back into his emotionless face. "Damn it, Morpheus," she breathed, a dozen or more things on the tip of her tongue, trapped by his slumber. She wasn't angry with him, of course, but found her anger venting on any given source at any given time. Right now she wanted to ask how he had failed to defend himself.

The door at the end of the room opened and Trinity turned. As soon as he entered the room she was moving towards him, stretching her arms at the last moment to capture him into an embrace. She rested her chin against his shoulder and sighed, closing her eyes as the rage dissipated. "Nothing," she reported, then waited for Neo to speak. Her eyes opened as he took a deep breath.

"He'll be all right," he responded, pulling back and putting his hand to her cheek. His dark eyes glittered, but she could see none of his doubts reflected within them. What did that mean? Did he have no doubts?

She had them. Trinity knit her brow and glanced at her captain, then back into the face of Neo. "How do you know that?"

His answer wasn't unexpected. She knew him in and out, through and through, and yet there were times when his blind certainty seemed like a mask. This was one of those times. "He has to be. Believe that." Trinity moved back towards the bedside and gave him a sidelong look as he neared. "The Vigilant is ready."

"Are you sure this is the right thing?" she asked, watching his eyes, mesmerized by the search for his emotions.

Neo nodded and tore his gaze from hers. She followed his eyes to their captain's face and felt another pang of anger and pain that this had happened. She knew Neo's reasons and agreed with them, but a part of her did not want to leave Morpheus alone. That part was reflected within Neo, she knew. He had asked Link to remain behind, to keep watch for them. His resolve was firm. "It's the right thing. It's what he would want us to do." He turned towards her then, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "He'll be safe here. Out of the war."

Grunting softly, she shook her head. "He wouldn't want to miss it. I know that."

A flicker of pain flashed through his dark eyes. "Yeah. You're right about that." A few seconds that seemed like moments passed. They were both delaying the departure. She knew it and could sense he knew it as well when he said, "He'll be safe," but did not move. Their eyes locked, both trying to will the other to move or find the will to move in the other's eyes, but failing both objectives. There was an unspoken understanding between them that this could be the last time they saw Morpheus, one way or another.

That was, until, the door opened again. Trinity looked over Neo's shoulder and sighed softly as Niobe entered. Their time with Morpheus had come to an end. It was her time now. Trinity put her hand on Neo's arm, urging him towards the door gently. He took the hint and waited at the threshold while Trinity gave the female captain a reassuring touch on the shoulder. "Keep an eye on him for us. "

The left corner of Niobe's lip tilted into a half smile as she nodded, then looked beyond to where Morpheus was. Trinity followed Neo from the room and noticed Commander Lock standing outside, his expression stony. He said nothing to either of them, merely watched as they met up with Link there in the reception area. He stretched his arms, then shrugged, saying, "What's the final game plan?"

"Enter the Matrix, come home, if all goes well," Neo said, sharing a look with Trinity before continuing. "We'll send word as soon as we can. And thanks for staying here."

Link smiled at that and nodded. "Sure thing. You know you owe me big though, right?"

Trinity gave him a wan smirk. "I'm sure security will manage to help your efforts, Link."

He shook his head at that. "No, I don't mean that. It's going to take a lot of work to keep him from jumping on a ship and following after you two once he wakes up. You do know that, right?"

"Good thing you're going to stop him," she responded smoothly as she and Neo traded places with him, positioning Link nearer to their captain's door and them further away.

"Yeah, well, that's what I'm talking about. Hard, hard work." The operator smiled at them, but it was pale compared to his usual expression and quickly faded to something grave. "Take care, you guys. Be safe?"

As they neared the door Neo nodded and opened it. "We will be. If you find anything out about Bane…"

Link nodded before he even finished the sentence. "Signed, sealed and delivered. Don't worry. I heard they're questioning him now. I wouldn't want to be in his shoes."

* * *

It was cold and dark. Everything about Zion was cold and dark. The walls, the shadows, the overbearing atmosphere; it all made him sick. It would be over soon, however. Smith consoled himself with this one driving thought. He stood quite a way from the medical center, much further than he would have liked, for the halls surrounding Captain Morpheus were tight with security. Everywhere he looked another human stood with a waiting expression, eyes darkened with concern and duty. If he attempted to attack Neo anywhere near there he would have to be extremely certain of his shot and that was one thing he did not care to take chances on.

He had things he wished to say to Neo, whisperings of hatred and expressions of his victory over him. Petty human emotions, but he felt the need to satiate them nonetheless. In his right hand a knife was curled, hidden away within the pocket of his pants, slick with the sweat of his palm. He had been waiting at least twenty minutes after giving his benefactor the slip. His body felt tense, every muscle locked and poised, ready like a trap about to spring when the right set of consequences was met. Each time someone passed he found himself taking a step forward in anticipation. The new crewmate of theirs, Link, had passed and had noticed his presence, but of course did not make the connection. How could he? Still, Smith realized then he must look strange, lurking around the shadows, waiting with what must be an anticipatory expression. So he forced himself to relax a little and paced, stretching his fingers but keeping them near his weapon.

And then his ears caught it. The familiar voice came from around the corner to his right and Smith gripped his blade, moving back into the shadows as he growled softly, "Anderson." He was talking softly with someone. Trinity, his ears identified. He was not alone. Inwardly the exile cursed, but found himself unable to lay aside the idea of letting the moment pass by. He would attack and perhaps kill them both, if Trinity did not run for help. If she did he would not follow her. Only Anderson mattered.

The footsteps came closer, pounding in his ears like a heartbeat gone wild. Smith drew the hilt of the blade out of his pocket slowly, watching, watching and waiting. As the moment neared he felt his hatred build, he felt the pressure of his task bearing down on him, breathing down his neck, a hot flame that seared him with his purpose. His breath caught as Anderson came into view, Trinity beyond him. It would be so easy, so very easy. He took a step forward and felt a grin spread along his mouth.

"Mimic, what the Hell are you doing?" The accented voice shot through him like a bell despite its whispery timbre and startled, Smith whirled around to see Steel standing behind him. The dark-eyed young man had a very serious expression fixed on him, but it melted away as he looked beyond the exile. "Leaving, Neo?"

Smith clenched his hand roughly along the hilt of his knife, but did not dare to turn, waiting for Anderson to respond. He fixed an unguardedly hateful look onto Steel's face as his enemy said, "Yeah. Time to go."

Steel nodded without saying a word about his opinion concerning Neo, merely replied, "Good luck," then returned his eyes to Smith. Their footsteps echoed away from where he stood with Steel and his chance fled with them. The exile wasn't sure whether to run after Neo and plunge the blade into him without care or to turn the knife onto this one before him. Steel blinked at the obvious hate being directed at him, but did not back down. "What were you doing?" he insisted and Smith felt the strong urge to show him.

"He wasn't doing anything, Steel. Leave him alone." Psyche came from behind her lover, her dark eyes shining with a firm intent.

Her medic wasn't ready to just let go of his suspicions. "Psyche, I saw…"

"What?" she interrupted, watching with a discerning expression.

The medic shrugged and ran his hand through his dark, wavy hair. "I saw him lurking around the shadows. I've been standing behind him a full five minutes."

Psyche turned to him with that same uncomfortable, almost knowing look about her. "What were you doing, Mimic?"

Smith let go of his knife, took his hands out of his pockets and folded his arms. "Ask him. He seems to have come to a conclusion based upon his observation of me," Smith hissed, doing nothing to disguise his sneer as he said it.

"What am I supposed to think after what's happened to Morpheus?" Steel retorted plainly. "You've been nothing short of ungrateful and hostile since we awakened you.

"I have been hostile and see no reason to discontinue, however to attack Captain Morpheus would be foolish. He is under heavy guard."

"And how would you know that if you haven't looked?"

Smith moved closer to him, pressing forward with his intimidating height, betraying no fear despite the very real possibility that this conversation could close with some uncomfortable questions coming from sources that could potentially identify him, or at very least detain him from his true purpose. "You believe yourself to be intelligent. Most of your kind do, but your unwavering faith in that fact is flawed. You accuse wildly without understanding, you assume with no knowledge of who I am or what my purpose is."

Steel's eyes narrowed to slits and he stepped forward, but Psyche's hand on his shoulder stayed him. "Steel, I think you had somewhere to be." He gave her a concerned look that she brushed aside. "Don't worry about me. Let me handle this."

"Psyche…"

"Now, Steel. That's an order."

The medic glared into her face, but said nothing, storming past her. He turned down the hall from which Neo and Trinity had come and disappeared. Smith cocked his head, watching the strange woman before him, wondering why she was so eager to come to his defense. If she had any wits she would have heeded the words of her lover and questioned the very questionable circumstances surrounding this incident, but she didn't. Why? Why would she turn a blind eye to the obvious? "Aren't you afraid I could hurt you?" he asked her curiously, supposing she would not take it as a threat.

She did not and again he wondered why. He made no attempt to appear to be jesting with her. Lips pursed, she studied him with a first hint of uncertainty flickering and dying in her eyes before stating as if it were a fact, "You won't hurt me."

"How do you know?"

"I know."

"And your opinion on Steel's accusation?"

She tilted her chin up. "Be careful, Mimic. You're walking a fine edge that you wouldn't want to fall off of before meeting with the Oracle." Her words made him flinch and he made to speak, but she cut him off and he was glad for it, for he may have easily assumed she understood his purpose here and revealed too much. "Just keep your temper in check. I wouldn't want to see you in trouble before you came to truly understood Zion and could make an…intelligent choice." Her lips curled into a smirk. "Get some rest. You're going to need it," she said as a good-bye, then swept around him.

Smith turned and watched her go, uneasy with his conviction that there were more variables to this situation than he had originally anticipated.

**

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**Author**: _Ruse - jedinineofnine at hotmail dot com_  
**Disclaimer**: No infringement intended.  
**Feedback**: _Yes_! By all means, my precioussss, lemme know how I'm doing!  
**Archive**: Sure, just please let me know if you will, so I can stop by and see your site.

**To Reviewers: **

I know this wasn't soon as I assumed it would be, but this is one fic I will NOT give up on. And now that I have my other project out of the way, I'm devoting my time to this one. Whew! I'll make no promises for anyone returning to shake their heads at, but I will put effort into this because it's the one I'm most proud of. Anyway, this chapter is short…and perhaps clumsy…but I'm trying to get back into the step of things. I even watched Revs while writing, idn't that special? ;-)

**CanSpy** – Hehehe. Well, they had a meeting over Morpheus, sort of. ;-) True, over was more of a placement issue rather than meaning they had a meeting "concerning" Morpheus, but ah…still okay?? ;) Thanks!

**Selina** – Sorry it wasn't quick! sniffle I saw that website you advertise, but got a Trojan from it. I wonder if it's been fixed yet. scratches head Thanks!

**Thesseli** – Thanks…I wonder what the real real world has in it too. ;-) And how many Matrices stand between Neo and it. :-D

**Mazoku** – Thank you! I hope I still have you when I post this! :-)

**LiM** – Yes…alertness, exactly. Poor Smith will have to wait to get his big chance. ;-) I hope you enjoyed! Thanks!


	12. Whispers of the Enemy

**Mimic  
**Whispers of the Enemy

Brown and Jones have an interesting, albeit strange, proposal for the exiled Agent Smith. But what of the cost of entering the real world to assassinate Neo?

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The lights dimmed down for the night, but Smith did not move. He was still lost in the question. At first he had come here as a predator stalking the bars of a cage separating him from his prey. Anderson's escape still vexed the exile just as it always had since the beginning of this. Since the object of his fixation had so cleanly escaped he had been left without a purpose here, for he was not about to waste his chance killing the random strangers in the Council. He had not truly come here for the sake of Brown, Jones or the old purpose he had served. He recognized that now, just how far away he was from that Agent he had been. He needed something to hope for, so to speak, something he could plan, some way to give Anderson pain if not death. And so he had taken to stalking after the ailing Morpheus, watching through glass, kept away by a locked door that held two guards within. He knew he could not kill Morpheus now, but he kept returning, asking how the captain faired if anyone happened to notice his presence in the shadows, assuring them he merely wished to talk and understand, that his words at the temple had moved him.

And eventually some of the story made it into his motives. He did find himself curious to understand, even if he would never talk with Morpheus. Trying to shake the unnecessary curiosity, he turned away from the window and stopped short, seeing a small form before him. Her skin was shadowy and those dark eyes of hers smoldered as she assessed what she had found. "You're Mimic," she surmised, surprising him.

Smith raised his eyebrow. "And you're Niobe." His knowledge of her name did not impress her visibly.

She continued to watch as if waiting for him to state his business and gave up after a moment, glancing beyond him through the window at the sleeping man within. "What are you doing?"

He regurgitated the same rehearsed story, altering the elements every so slightly, recycling the lies and mixing them with truth. "I came to see how he was."

"Why?" she pressed without hesitation.

Exhaling, he turned back towards the window and looked inside. "I heard him speak. I see this world around me, I see him in there, suffering senselessly and I wonder why. Why do you continue with this charade of an existence when the Matrix offers so much more?"

Niobe came to stand beside him, her eyes fixed on Morpheus with a softness he was not sure she meant to betray. Her tone was not as gentle. "You don't want to be here? Fine, but you won't be bothering him with your cynical, pointless arguments..."

"I don't want to argue, I want to know why!" Smith hissed, turning on her, feeling his anger bubble to the surface. Niobe's eyes widened a little, but she did not appear afraid of him. He looked away from her, bothered by his own outburst, running one of his hands over the flesh of the other. It wearied him to think on, a feeling he did not fully understand yet. A bitter smile touched his lips as he looked up into her wary expression. "I am trapped here. What does this place have to offer me?"

She exhaled and shook her head. "That's something you have to discover. No one can tell you. Not me. Not Morpheus. And you'll find it only if you're willing." He watched as her eyes flitted back to Morpheus and could tell she had more on her mind. Perhaps something like what he was saying. Smith stayed silent, waiting for more. I wasn't much different at first. I knew what I had gotten myself into when I was offered the choice, but it wasn't enough to prepare me for how life is down here. But there were a few things that meant something more to me than the comfort of the Matrix." Her eyes swept back up to his. "Truth and freedom."

Smith frowned, but said nothing, knowing nothing he said would change her mind, knowing it was not worth the attempt. "And those things are worth living in this squalor?" he asked her half-heartedly.

Niobe shrugged her shoulders. "Only to some. Look, you better go. Psyche's waiting for you in the hangar. We haven't had any contact from the Vigilant since they departed, so we're heading in to see if we can help. She wants you to go, Mimic."

"Does she?" he mused dryly. He pursed his lips and glanced at the hall leading away from his would-be victim. "I suppose it's not as if I have anything better to do." That, of course, was not entirely true. So they were headed in to help Anderson, were they? He would be more than happy to attend the rescue, but of course could not appear so eager.

To his surprise as he turned away she stopped him with a hand to his arm. He turned with a frown that melted slightly when she said, "If that's what it takes. But if you're going to help, then help."

Smith nodded without comment and turned from her, leaving her alone with her thoughts, her sorrow over Morpheus. As he made his way towards the hangar his thoughts were alight with a new hope for the destruction of Anderson. Gone was the curiosity, replaced with determination. The hunt was still on.

Entering into the hangar he saw Psyche not far, inspecting the Damascus, her bag thrown carelessly to the floor. She was not so immersed that she did not sight his quiet approach before he reached her, however. She turned with appraising eyes that seemed almost happy to see him. "I see someone found you. Coming? Where are your things?"

"What things?" he asked in a testy voice, stopping before her. He let out a breath and shook his head. "Yes. I was found and will join you, if only to try and figure out why you do what it is you do."

Her smile only increased at his reply. "Get on, Mimic. We're leaving now."

He glanced back towards the city before turning to follow her and caught sight of her measuring eyes. There were times like this one he found her to be a truly aggravating creature. With a glare he brushed ahead of her and entered into the ship for what he hoped would he a final time. After he faced his enemy and destroyed him, he did not care what happened to this body. On board were the expected individuals, of course, all of whom smiled in greeting except for Steel. He merely nodded, conveying another message with his eyes. A warning, if Smith understood these humans correctly. He allowed himself a small smile to irritate the medic.

Behind him the door shut. Psyche motioned him towards the back where the Matrix interfaces were. "You're now allow to sit and wallow in your rooms this time around, Mimic. Time for some training."

"I told you I did not want one of those things in my head," Smith hissed, having forgotten this possibility. He had no way of knowing what would happen if they tried to train him in the way he knew these rebels were trained, via uploaded information. The risk was not worth taking, for he knew how to fight better than any of them, of course. Yet it was how to get out of it that troubled him.

Psyche stared at him a moment, her eyebrow raised. The ship was silent as a battle was fought between their steely expressions. "You're going to have one of those 'things' in your head when you see the Oracle, Mimic, and you will go and see her. I promise you that."

"If I refuse?" he countered, staring her down, trying to intimidate her out of her demands. He could refuse the training easily and claim a change of heart later on when it came to jacking in to the actual Matrix, but if she thought she could force him later she would assume she could force him now.

Tilting her head to the side, she gave him a long, smoldering look before replying, "If you refuse to see the Oracle, you won't get what you're looking for. Train or come and help me in the cockpit. I can teach you that easily enough, but if you spend the first part of this trip in your quarters, then you'll spend the last part of it there as well. There are locking mechanisms on the doors if they're needed."

Again it seemed her words addressed the reality of who he was, not who he was pretending to be, and again he wondered how much she had already guessed. But it made no sense to him. Why would she help him if she knew what he was? Not unless she, like Reagan, was a defector. Yet none of her actions in public or in private seemed to suggest that. If she were interested in aiding the agents surely she would have sought him out privately to negotiate. He backed down from the battle of wills and exhaled, stepping towards her. "That will not be necessary. Just don't hook me up to any machines. Not yet."

"You're gonna get yourself fucking killed without training," Steel growled from the shadows. He grunted sourly, then retreated towards the medical bay.

"Come on," Psyche breathed, heading on towards the cockpit without him. He followed after her quickly, almost eager to be alone with her, to see if she said anything relevant to his true purpose, and yet wary of that very thing as well. He took a seat beside her and eyed the controls, memorizing the appearance, cataloguing what she did with hers. She spoke without looking at him. "Must you be so difficult?"

Smith grunted reflexively, then frowned when she pointed him towards the controls. "I never promised to be otherwise." The captain shook her head and gave him an annoyed look, but did not pursue the matter, leaving him to the task of subtle hunting. "So what is it that you think I am searching for, Psyche?" he asked her in a deceptively mild tone. He was not sure what he would say if she made an implication of the truth. Without aid his chances of successfully re-entering the Matrix were slim and yet if she knew his truth nature he could not leave any of them alive.

For a long moment she was silent and he felt his host's muscles tense until finally she said in a soft, unintrusive tone, "What are any of us looking for, Mimic? Purpose? That's what you really want, isn't it? Is that the root of all your tension? I don't think you honestly care how we live in Zion."

"An interesting assumption," he replied with an unintended edge. Her words were irritating to him. He did not like that a human could understand him even a little or to have her equate his motives with human ones. Still, she had said nothing too condemning yet. He pressed for more. "And this Oracle, she will know my purpose?"

Psyche's response was not telling enough to clue him in as to how much she knew. "Just about any question you could ask she has an answer to. Remember that when you speak with her."

He grunted and let the matter drop, surmising she would say no more. Already she had given him enough to keep him from protesting too loudly any of her commands. Now he would simply have to wait. They departed Zion in silence and for a few hours he allowed himself to be directed by her guidance in how to operate the ship, listening to her advice on the Oracle, the Matrix and the bare facts that she thought he needed to know. Some time passed and again she suggested he train, which he steadfastly denied, saying that he already knew how to fight. She had given him a dubious look, but did not pursue it after that.

Then sometime after he had pondered and planned and concluded, Psyche pointed ahead of them and said, "We'll set her down right there and jack in. You say you know how to fight? Well, I will warn you, we cannot pick up the slack in trying to defend you. You will do exactly as I say at all times and react immediately when I give you an order. This will save your life. Understand?"

"I understand," he humored her, helping her to bring the ship down. Once it settled she stood and motioned him to follow, heading on towards the Matrix interface in the back. Two of the crew followed and when they arrived he saw Steel waiting there for them. Smith ran his eyes along the machines they used to jack in and curled his lip, but said nothing. With a frown Steel directed him to a chair, hissing a warning to his captain not to risk her life for nothing.

He could not deny it. Deep within the middle of his abdomen he began to feel something strange. It was a certain fluttery feeling he associated with the uncertain grounds he was walking into. While he was not afraid, he conceded to himself that he did not feel prepared enough to make a fail-safe plan. Part of him was curious, certainly, about the Oracle, but he knew to see her was not worth the risk. Yet without following the trail of these humans he would not know where or how to find Anderson. As he sat back against the chair he found his fists tightening of their own accord. Perhaps the Oracle would not know who he was. It was a long debated subject among his kind, his previous kind, as to whether or not she could accurately predict all scenarios.

Lost in the thoughts, he did not notice Steel was working at the apparatus at his head until he felt a shove, but by the time he felt able to respond everything went black. Yet even that was as temporary as the previous effect. As the bright world painted by the Matrix faded into view Smith felt no pain, finding himself in an apartment room in disrepair. He reached instinctively towards the back of his head to find his hair had returned. His clothes, too, were differentthe same casual wear of his host. The others were draped in the garb of the night, their bodies boasting of leathers and black. Psyche smirked at his attire and opened a phone to her ear. "Send something for Mimic to wear."

Halfway through asking if that was necessary, he noticed suddenly a neatly folded pile of clothes on a table that he had not seen minutes before. Smith closed his mouth, jerked the garments off the table and changed there without any modesty. The other two were polite enough to turn away from him, but Psyche did not seem to mind. "I've been given a location not far from here. Your meeting with the Oracle should be brief."

Smith grunted and straightened once he was dressed. The soft leather pants hung loose around his legs and the black shirt was not restricting. He checked the pockets of the ankle length leather coat for a weapon and came back with a pair of reflective sunglasses. Sliding them on his face, he raised his eyebrow at the female captain. "Is there a reason for all this ostentatious clothing? If you are looking to avoid attention I believe you will find your efforts in vain."

Psyche smiled at him without replying and motioned the others to follow. They left the abandoned building quickly, weapons at the ready, eyes peering around every corner. He wondered idly if they would happen upon any of the other agents, was conflicted over whether or not he truly wanted that to happen. Yet as the moments ticked by he began to lose what bare hope he had. They disappeared down an alley, coming to a nondescript door that Psyche opened without knocking. Within was quite different than the broken down looking outside. The walls were soft, clean and white, reflecting against a reflective black tiled floor. There was a single chair and seated there was an Asian male wearing black and white. Seraph. Smith became uncomfortable, knowing now he must be caught and identified for who he was. They had met before. He had hunted this exile to no avail and would now become the hunted, it seemed. Though his eyes were covered by his sunglasses, the exiled Agent could see he was looking them over and when he paused, Smith prepared himself for a battle. Yet the program before them did not address him, but their leader. "You are Captain Psyche," he said and stood.

"Yes, we've gone come to see the Oracle as my message said."

The man nodded once and motioned towards a door behind his now vacant chair. "She is waiting. Follow me."

What would happen now? Smith knew it was time for him to end this charade, now before they could overtake him, yet his feet propelled him forward and his mouth remained closed. Seraph stood aside, letting them through the door first, watching with his hidden eyes. Smith did not lower himself to look away as he moved to pass, but boldly looked into the face of his enemy and there he saw recognition. Seraph's dark eyes could be seen through the opaque lenses of his eye ware and there was no mistaking it. He knew who it was in the company of these rebels, knew and said nothing at all. There was distrust there and a warning, but no sudden actions or desperate orders to seize the agent they now happily led towards their precious Oracle.

The guardian stepped in behind Smith, closing the door. They were inside a long hallway filled with doors. Backdoors, he could see. A very smart way to hide her. This was why Seraph had escaped so easily, so many times. He moved to the head of them, leading the rebels on until he came to an exit and opened it. They entered into a very homey, lived-in looking place with couches and vases filled with flowers and pictures on the walls. Seraph turned towards them, his hands folded confidently together before him. "Wait here. Mimic, you will follow." His eyes picked Smith out without uncertainty.

His muscles tense, Smith followed without question, entering into yet another door that lead to a small hallway where Seraph stopped. "You are not going to take me to her," he said, unable to contain a sudden smile. A challenging smile.

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**Author**: Ruse - Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
**Feedback**: Yes, please!  
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**Reviewers**: Thank you! I made it without 6 months going by! Aren't you proud? ;) Enjoy!


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